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HELEN ELIZA GARRISON. 



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' There 's not a charm of soul or brow, — 

Of all we knew and loved in thee, — 
But lives in holier beauty now. 
Baptized in immortality!" 



CAMBRIDGE: 

IPrintcti at tljc i!!i\3er.siDc ^xi^$, 

1876. 



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H. E. G. 



The Grave, deai- sufferer, had for thee no gloom, 
And Death no terrors when his summons came : 
Unto the dust returns the mortal frame — 

The vital Spirit (under no such doom) 

Was never yet imprisoned in the tomb ; 
But, rising heavenward, an ethereal flame, 
Shines on unquenched, in essence still the same 

As is the Light that doth all worlds illume. 

Thou art translated to a happier sphere, 
To gain companionship among the blest. 

Released from all that made life painful here, 
And so pi-epared to enter into rest : — 

If stricken hearts bend weeping o'er thy bier. 

Still, still for them — for thee — all's for the best! 

W. L. G. 



The portrait which for'ms the frontispiece of this volume 
is copied from a daguerreotype^ taken probably in 1852 or 
1853, and is regarded as an excellent likeness of Mrs. 
Garrison as she appeared at that time. 

The facts pertaining to her father, Mr. Benson, are prin- 
cipally taken from a genealogy of " The Benson Family 
of Netvport, R. 7.," printed in 1872 ; to ivhich is added 
an Appendix concerning the Benson Families in America 
of English descent. 



IN MEMORIAM. 



The following tribute to vanished loveliness and worth is 
solely for private distribution among beloved friends. Nev- 
ertheless, in proceeding to record it, I feel much embarrass- 
ment because of the delicacy of the task. This is enhanced 
by the sacredness of the relation tliat subsisted so long be- 
tween the dear departed one and myself, and by a lively 
remembrance of the shrinking modesty and genuine humility 
of her nature. For if she could give vocal utterance to her 
wishes, it would be most sincerely to beg me to desist from 
what my heart irresistibly prompts me to perform in this 
instance. Indeed, to no one could the following panegyric 
be more truthfully applied than to herself : — 

" As streams that run o'er golden mines, 

Yet humbly, calmly glide. 
Nor seem to know the worth that shines 

Within their gentle tide; 
So, veiled beneath the simplest guise. 

Her radiant genius slione, 
And that which charmed all otlier eyes 

Seemed worthless in her own." 

But I cannot allow this consideration wholly to prevent tlie 
expression of my estimate of her as a wife and mother, and 
my large indebtedness to her as a helpmate through many 



b IN MEMORIAM. 

years of fiery trial and stormy conflict, now that she is trans- 
kited to anotlier sphere of existence. It will give needed re- 
lief to those feelings which so sharp a bereavement naturally 
awakens in the breast, while it will be a merited recognition 
of her admirable qualities, which, in justice to her memory, 
I ought not to withhold. ' 

The greatest of poets assures us, 

" There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
Koutrh-hcw them how we Avill." 

Certainly, it is a problem not easily solved how far our 
earthly career is determined by ourselves, or by the circum- 
stances that surround us. From this or that seemingly tri- 
fling, fortuitous occurrence, how much of help or hindrance, 
joy or sorrow, success or failure, has fallen to our lot ! AVhat 
if it had not taken place ? Whore or wluit should we now 
be in our affectioiis, relations, pursuits, attainments, aspira- 
tions ? In all probability it would have changed or greatly 
modified our after life ; but in what direction, or to what 
extent, all conjecture is vain. 

Exempli gratia. In the year 1828, while editing a weekly 
temperance journal (TAc National PJt'danthropist^ in Boston, 
I received among my newspaper exchanges a small monthly 
j)eriodical, entitled The Cienius of Universal Emancipation^! 
published at Baltimore. A perusal of it gave me the first 
intelligent conception I had had of the nature and extent 
of chattel slavery at the South, and strongly excited my 
compassion for the victims of that cruel system. I accord- 
ingly gave it a commendatory notice in the PJtilanthropist, 
which proved so gratifying to its Quaker editor (Benjamin 
Lundyj that it induced him, among other reasons, to take 
his staff in hand and make a pedestrian tour all the way 
from the Monumental City to Boston, in order that he might 



IN MEMOUTAM. 7 

see me, and, if possible!, dcM^pc.n tlio intorosfc T was bofjjinning 
to fool in tlie cause of negTo (Mn;in('ii):iti()ii. Tiiis led to my 
joining- liiin in Ualliniorc afterward, in <'di(in<;- liis periodical 
— changed from a monthly to a w(!ekly — and consccrafcin^if 
all my fncuUics and powers to tlu> task of delivering; the op- 
pressed out of the hnnds of llieii- oppressors. What a loui:; 
chain of se(pi(>nces, in my experience' and destiny, resulted 
from that prinniry link ! What if th:it little anti-slavery 
sheet had not been on my exchantj;(! list? In tJiat case there 
would, of course, have been no knowledt^e, and consmpiently 
no reco<i;nition of it by me ; in the absence of which, no 
acquaintance on my part witii its intrepid and |)iiiianthro[)ic 
conductor, no union with him at Baltimore, and no subse- 
cpient publication of The Llhcntlor in I'oston ! 

" \\'c ^Iridc the river d.iily :il ils sjiriii'^, 

N(ir ill (lur (•liilili>li lli(mij,lil Icssiic^s I'drcsfi! 

What in\i-i;i(l v;iss;il slrcaiiis sli:ill triliiKc l)ring, 

How like ;iii i(|u:il it ^il:lll urcrl tiu' ^■(■a." 

Again: not less fortunate for m(% in respect to my future 
life of domesticity and wedlock, was my acquaintance in 
1832 with the family of the venerable George Henson, of 
Brooklyn, Connecticut, arising purely from a, common sym- 
pathy in the anti-slavery niovement. 

Mr. Benson was a native of Newjiort, 11. J., but com- 
menced business in Boston as early as 178?), when at tlu; ex- 
piration of the year he removed to Providence, and, joining 
in partnership with Nicholas Brown, under the title of 
Brown & Benson, — later, Brown, Benson & Ives, — eon-» 
tinned in successful business for several years. 

Traces of Mr. Benson as a business man are to be found 
in the Prejvidence Gazette of October 6, 1792, from which 
it appears that on the Monday previous he was unanimously 



» IN MEMORIAL. 

elected a director of the Providence Bank, in place of Mr. 
Nicholas Brown, who resigned in his favor ; and in the same 
paper of January 18, 1800, where he figures as director and 
secretary of the Washington Insurance Company of Provi- 
dence, then just formed. He was also one of the Trustees 
of Brown University, but retired from the Board in 1801. 

He was a rare example of moral excellence — in justness 
an Aristides, in peaceableness a Penn, in philanthropy a 
Clarkson. As a youth he was uncommonly studious, though 
measurably self-taught. He made himself thoroughly ac- 
quainted with the best literary and religious works extant, 
and habitually extracted such portions as were specially de- 
serving of transcript and circulation. In this labor his judg- 
ment and taste were excellent. His reverence for the Deity 
was profound, and his piety fervent without fanaticism, and 
strict without bigotry. He was baptized by the Rev. Dr. 
Gano, of Providence, of whose church he became a mem- 
ber, but ultimately withdrew from it, his religious views 
conforming more nearly to those of the Society of Friends. 
He frequently spoke in admiring terras of the character of 
Penn, Benezet, and Woolman, and of the emphatic testi- 
monies borne by Friends against slavery and war. His own 
spirit breathed only of " peace on earth, good will to men." 

As early as 1775, it is supposed Mr. Benson was inter- 
ested in the abolition of slavery in his native State, a letter 
in the Gazette of September 9, of that year, signed " A 
Friend of America," being attributed to him. This commu- 
nication had reference to a petition to the General Assembly 
to pass an act " for prohibiting the importation of negroes 
into this colony, and asserting the right of freedom of all 
those hereafter born or manumitted within the same." At 
the June session of the General Assembly, in 1790, was 



IN MEMORIAM. 9 

passed an " Act to incorporate certain Persons by the Name 
of the Providence Society for promoting the Abolition of 
Slavery, for the Relief of Persons unlawfully held in Bond- 
age, and for improving the Condition of the African Race." 
Of this Society Mr. Benson became an active member, and 
at a later period of its existence was its secretary, — Judge 
Howell being its president. 

Mr. Benson took a deep interest in the labors of Granville 
Sharpe, Wilberforce and Clarkson (his contemporaries), in 
behalf of the same despised and oppressed race under Brit- 
ish rule ; and he never hesitated to avow his abhorrence of 
slavery and the slave trade at all times, notwithstanding the 
overwhelming pro-slavery sentiment in Rhode Island at that 
period. How the Providence Society was regarded at the 
time of its formation, Mr. Benson himself tells us : — 

" It had a most formidable opposition to encounter. The inhabitants 
of Newport had been many years eno;aged in that inhuman traffic, which 
in its various ramifications furnished employment to numerous persons. 
It was the. source of almost ever}/ other branch of hu^'mess. Of course the 
ship-owners, officers and seamen, with all their connections, wei'e inim- 
ical to the Society, as was also the town of Bristol, though of minor 
importance. Add to this, some "of the principal merchants were in the 
opposition rank." 

It was under such a crucial test that his moral courage 
was exemplified, regardless of all personal consequences. 
For his conspicuous zeal and fidelity at that time, the 
" Pennsylvania Society for Promoting the Abolition of 
Slavery," etc., whose first President was Benjamin Frank- 
lin, elected Mr. Benson an honorary member, his diploma 
bearing date October, 1792. 

During his residence in Providence, he frequently inter- 
posed to deliver the prey from the slave-trader or slave- 
hunter — cheerfully perilling his person and property, yet 



10 IN MEMORIAM. 

meeting danger and threats with cahn determination and 
unflinching courage. 

It deserves to be recorded, that while so many worthy 
persons were beguiled by the cunningly devised scheme of 
the American Colonization Society, Mr. Benson clearly com- 
prehended its spirit and tendene}^ and wrote a long and an 
elaborate document in opposition to it, even before The 
Liberator made its appearance. 

When the new anti-slavery movement was initiated, on 
the basis of immediate and unconditional emancipation, he 
was not intimidated by the fierce outer}'- that was every- 
where raised against it, but gave to it his cheering counte- 
nance. In 1834 he was elected President of the New Eng- 
land (afterward the Massachusetts) Anti-Slavery Society, 
and served for that year. 

In this connection, the following extract from the " Me- 
moir of Samuel J. May " will show his estimate of this 
venerable philanthropist and his family : — 

" J^arly in my ministry I commenced preaching the doctrine of peace, 
and denouncing the custom of war. In the spring of 1825, a most ex- 
cellent man came to reside in Brooklyn, who was an earnest fellow- 
laborer and efficient helper in this cause, Mr. George Benson, for many 
years a merchant in Providence, R. I., a member of the distinguished 
firm of Brown, Benson & Ives. He dissolved his connection with them 
because he could not conscientiously consent to some things which they 
and most merchants deemed perfectly proper. He was respected by all 
who knew him, for his steadfast adherence to whatever he believed to 
be true and right. Although never a member of the Society of Friends, 
he entertained most of their opinions, cherished their spirit, dressed very 
much in their style, and generally attended their religious meetings. He 
was over seventy years of age, very gentle, and a perfect gentleman. 
He and his family were a valuable acquisition to our society, and added 
much to my personal comfort. His wife, six daughters and two sons 
were all sensible, earnest persons. They conscientiously differed some- 



IN ME MORI AM. 11 

what in their religious opinions, but they were harmonious among them- 
selves, charitable towards others, and all interested in the great work of 
our Lord, the redemption of mankind from ignorance, sin and misery. 
.... Mrs. Benson, one of the most motherly of women ; Charlotte, 
now JNIrs. Anthony of Providence ; Sarah, a very saint ; and Helen, now 
Mrs. AVilliam Lloyd Garrison, together with George W. and Henry E., 
were devoted co-workers with me, and constant attendants on my preach- 
ing. Frances, the oldest daughter, was very Orthodox, and Mary and 
Anna were Quakers. I wish I could do better justice to this most esti- 
mable family. George W. was a most energetic, fearless young man in 
behalf of anything that he believed to be true and right, and Henry E. 
was, I think, one of the most faultless persons I ever knew. 

" Mr. Benson and I soon discovered how much we agreed in our opin- 
ions upon the great subjects of war, intemperance and popular educa- 
tion. He was conversant with most of the best Quaker and other 
writers upon those subjects, and helped me much to define and settle my 
own opinions. We succeeded in interesting so many persons in our 
views of war, persons not only of Brooklyn but of several otlier towns, 
that in August, 1826, we called a county meeting of the friends of peace, 
and succeeded in forming tlie Windham County Peace Society. Mr. 
Benson was the Pi'esident ; I was the Corresponding Secretary. We 
distributed a great many tracts, and held meetings in most of the towns 
of the county." 

George Benson was married in Providence, January 27, 
1793, by Rev. Dr. Gano, to Sally Tlmrber, daughter of 
James Thurber. " They went to housekeeping in the ele- 
gant residence, near the corner of Angell and Prospect 
Streets, which still stands, perfectly preserved and but little 
altered. Mr. Benson had built it for himself in the most 
thorough manner, and its site Avas, in those days, one of the 
most commanding in the town." Here, in the course of the 
next twenty-nine years, all their children were born. In 
the spring of 1824 he removed with his family to Brooklyn, 
Conn., having purchased a farm near the centre of the vil- 
lage, where on the 11th of December, 1836, after a few 



12 IN MEMORIAM. 

days' illness, he died in the eighty-fifth year of his age — 
" never having previously known what toothache or head- 
ache was, all his teeth being sound, and his sight so unim- 
paired as to enable him to read the smallest print without 
the aid of spectacles." Moreover, his complexion was as fair 
as a child's ; so scrupulously in his habits did he adhere to 
the physiological and hygienic laws of life. As a husband 
and parent his affection, solicitude and tenderness were very 
strongly developed. 

In his choice of a wife he was exceedingly fortunate. In 
her were combined all the best qualities — sound discretion, 
admirable economic prudence, cheerful self-denial, retiring 
modesty, " a meek and quiet spirit," and a rare capacity for 
the faithful discharge of all household responsibilities. A 
portraiture of female excellence, drawn ages ago, is equally 
accurate in regard to her own married life : — " The heart 
of her husband doth safely trust in her. She will do him 
good all the days of her life. She seeketh wool and flax, 
and layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the 
distaff. She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth 
meat to her household. She stretcheth out her hand to the 
poor ; yea, she reacheth forth her liands to the needy. Her 
husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the 
elders of the land. Strength and honor are her clothing. 
She openeth her mouth with wisdom ; and in her tongue is 
the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her 
household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her 
children rise up and call her blessed ; her husband also, and 
he praiseth her. Give her of the fruit of her hands ; and 
let her own works praise her in the gates." 

The location of the Benson family in Brooklyn received 
the descriptive appellation of " Friendship's Valley," and 



IN MEMORIAM. 13 

many were, the visitors drawn to it by a magnetism as at- 
tractive as it was irresistible. A family more " given to 
hospitalit}''," or one evincing a more benevolent and gracious 
consideration in all cases of personal need, especially as af- 
fecting the poor colored race, could not be found ; and in 
the aggregate the number fed, lodged and succored under 
that sheltering roof was very large. The social welcome 
and communion were of the most delightful character. 
Hither came persons of every variety of sentiment, not for 
controversy or even a comparison of views, but to partake 
of a common baptism of the spirit, and to find the broadest 
catholicity. Conspicuous among these were members of the 
Society of Friends, highly appreciated for their walk and 
conversation ; two of the daughters (Mary and Ann Eliza- 
beth) having, through " convincement," accepted the views 
and testimonies of that Society, and conformed in dress and 
language thereto. But particularly did such visitors as were 
actively engaged in the temperance, peace, anti-slavery, and 
other reformatory movements receive a cordial greeting and 
strengthening assistance ; for, in regard to all such issues, 
there was no division of sentiment from the oldest to the 
youngest of the family. 

In this delightful family did that philanthropic heroine 
and martyr. Miss Prudence Crandall, of Canterbury (a 
village adjoining Brooklyn), find the warmest sympathy 
and the heartiest support in the midst of the fiery trials to 
which she was subjected. Her case is without a parallel ; 
and the new generation which has since come upon the stage 
will read the facts pertaining to it as though they related to 
some occurrence in a remote age and among a semi-civilized 
people. An experienced and capable teacher, and compas- 
sionating the benighted condition of the colored population, 



14 IN MEMORIAM. 

she was moved in 1833 to establish in Canterbury a board- 
ing-school for " colored young ladies and little misses," and 
soon obtained a number of scholars — two or three of them 
from beyond the limits of the State. Up to that time she 
had been highly respected for her amiable qualities and spot- 
less character ; but for this attempt to raise the fallen and 
give light to the blind, she was immediately assailed in the 
most violent and opprobrious manner. Had she been guilty 
of the worst crimes of which human depravity is capable, 
she could not have been denounced in severer terms, or re- 
garded with a more malignant, relentless spirit b}^ the great 
body of the inhabitants of Canterbury. They were thrown 
into a state of what John Milton calls " demoniac phrensy," 
the wealthiest and most influential citizens taking tlie lead ; 
Andrew T. Judson being the most culpable of these — 
afterwards raised to the United States judicial bench, un- 
doubtedly for this display of rampant colorphobia and pro- 
slavery servility ! Indulgence was given to the filthiest lan- 
guage, the wildest threats, and the basest accusations. As 
these were unavailing, the town conspired not to sell any 
food or other articles to Miss Crandall for the sustenance of 
herself and pupils. " Her well," says Samuel J. May in his 
" Recollections of the Anti-Slavery Conflict," which contain 
all the particulars of this insane outbreak, — " her well was 
defiled with the most offensive filth, and her neighbors re- 
fused her and the thirsty ones about her even a cup of cold 
water, leaving them to depend for that essential element 
upon the scanty supplies that could be brought from her 
father's farm, a distance of several miles. Nor was this 
all : the physician of the village refused to minister to 
any who were sick in Miss Crandall's family ; and the trus- 
tees of the church forbade her to come, with any of her 



IN MEMORTAM. - 15 

pupils, into the house of the Lord ! Again : at midnight her 
house was assaulted by a number of persons with heavy 
clubs and iron bars ; five window sashes were demolished, 
and ninety panes of glass dashed to pieces." Next, an at- 
tempt was made to set the house on fire while the inmates 
were sleeping, by which the front rooms were hardly left 
tenantable, though the building was saved. Finally, Miss 
Crandall was arrested and thrown into Brooklyn jail, under 
the Black Law of the State, enacted expressly by the Leg- 
islature in order to render the success of such a scliool im- 
practicable ; and the result was its compulsory abandon- 
ment, after an exhibition of moral courage and personal 
endurance on the part of that noble woman and her promis- 
ing pupils worthy of all honor and admiration. 

It was while thus outlawed and defamed that Miss Cran- 
dall was received under the sheltering roof of the Benson 
family as one deserving of all possible respect, esteem and 
assistance ; and never will she forget how she was strength- 
ened and sustained by their cheering words and unstinted 
hospitality throughout that extraordinary conflict ; for, after 
the lapse of forty-three years, she is still living to bless God 
for the marvellous deliverance which has since been wrought 
in behalf of that class so long " peeled, meted out, and trod- 
den under foot." 

Henry Egbert Benson, the youngest of the family, was a 
remarkable instance of early self-dedication to the cause of 
God and suffering humanity. At the age of sixteen his 
mind seemed to have attained the maturity of manhood, and 
his moral nature was unusually developed. Seeking only to 
know the right, he asked not who were its advocates or op- 
ponents, but zealously espoused it, in proportion to its un- 
popularity, as something more precious than life itself. 



16 IN MEMORIAM. 

Especially is he deserving of honorable remembrance for his 
early and indefatigable efforts in the anti-slavery cause, upon 
the altar of which he offered himself a living sacrifice. 
As soon as he saw a copy of The Liberator (in 1831), he 
volunteered to become one of its agents, and by his zeal in 
procuring subscribers for it at that critical period materially 
helped to secure its continuance. In connection with his 
equally energetic and devoted brother George, he did much 
to cause an entire revolution in the sentiments of a consid- 
erable portion of the people of Rhode Island on the subject 
of slavery. In July, 1835, he was chosen Secretary and 
General Agent of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society ; 
and his premature death, in his twenty-third year, was ow- 
ing in part to his unremitted application in discharging the 
onerous duties of his office, and to the exposures to which 
he was subjected on various occasions. For several months 
he travelled with that most eloquent champion of human 
rights, George Thompson, of England (then everywhere 
vilified and mobbed as "a British emissary"), acting as 
his amanuensis ; and he was the last abolitionist who bade 
farewell to Mr. Thompson, prior to his leaving for England, 
having gone down to St. John, N. B., to give the hunted 
philanthropist the parting lumd. 

In person he was tall, graceful and handsome ; with a 
radiant countenance, a heart overflowing with sympathy for 
every phase of human misery, a conscience ever prompting 
to the noblest endeavors, and a spirit in an eminent degree 
pure, unselfish, reverential : — 

" He loved the good and wise, but found 
His liuman heart to all akin 
Who met him on the common ground 
Of sufferinsc and of sin." 



IN MEMORIAM. 17 

With reference to this ISIeinorial, my highly endeared 
friend, Rev. Samuel May, of Leicester, jNIass., has commu- 
nicated the following personal recollections : — 

' ' Mrs. Garrison was about nineteen years old when I first saw lier and 
became ac(^uainted with her, very early in 1830. It was at the house of 
my cousin, Samuel J. May, in Brooklyn, Ct., and soon after at her 
father's house. I spent some eight months of that year in Brooklyn, 
and remember them always with great delight. Especially do I think, 
with increasing admiration, of the two families, Mr. Benson's and Mr. 
May's. They were near neighbors, and no other house very near them. 
They were in almost daily communication ; and when I went there, I 
found an intimacy and mutual affection existing between them that was 
beautiful to see. It was so free from constraint and formality, paid so 
little attention to mere ceremony, was yet so distinctly marked by re- 
spect for each other, and by self-respect on both sides, and was so con- 
stantly used for worthy ends, running by a natural inclination to subjects 
of interest and importance, and making even the hours of recreation not 
only agreeable but helpful, that to witness and participate in that happy 
and harmonious society was, as has been said in another case, in itself 
' a liberal education.' 

" Mrs. Garrison was one of the youngest members of that circle, — which 
was by no means confined to those families, but took in other families 
scattered over the town, but often brought together by common sympa- 
thies and objects, — among whom were the Spauldings, the Williamses, 
the Scarboroughs, Paines, Whitcombs, and others. You see I linger 
over the memories of those days, and of that cheerful, intelligent, truly 
refined, rural society. You will not be surprised to hear that your wife 
was a universal favorite. She was the picture of health, and the sound 
mind and sound body were evidently united in her. The natural result 
of good spirits followed, and these were invariably pijj.se nt. But they 
were not the mere result of good health. Courtesy, thoughtfulness for 
others, gentle manners and kindly words were the rule of the hcjusehold, 
and they found a ready disciple and their best soil in her, and united to 
form even at that early period a very attractive character. To a certain 
degree self-distrustful and sensitive, she would yet join as readily and 
easily in the mirth of her companions, when herself the subject of it, as 
any of them. She evidently knew the value of self-control ; and if ever 
.3 



18 ly MEMORIAL 

the hasty word or sharp reflection rose to her lips, it was repressed, 
and with evident good-will. In a quite long and intimate association 
with that circle of friends, old and young joining easily, I never saw in 
her an exception to this gentle spirit, this sweet and kindly disposition. 
It made sunshine whenever she came among us, and, with the accom- 
paniment of a voice in unison with her temperament, never failed to in- 
sure her a joyful welcome." 

I need only say that, as soon as I saw this young and 
bloomhig maiden, I was strongly attracted to her : — 

" Her household motions light and free, 
And stejis of virgin liberty ; 
A countenance in which did meet 
Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 
A creature not too bright or good 
For human nature's daily food. 
For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles." 

If it was not " love at first sight," on my part, it was 
something very like it — a magnetic influence being ex- 
erted which became irresistible on further acquaintance. 
But in my first letter to her I did not venture to make this 
avowal, but wrote simply as in the spirit of friendship, to 
which, with characteristic circumspection and humility, she 
replied : — 

"I feel greatly complimented in possessing the esteem of one I so 
highly and justly value; but I fear your short acquaintance has not 
made you a sufficient judge of my inferiority. I must say, yoii do not 
know me; and Lam constrained to believe that you are too sanguine in 
your expectations, and that disappointment would inevitably be your 
portion were I to accept of as much friendship as you have condescend- 
ingly offered, and which I scarcely dare trust my heart to cherish." 

Afterward, when we became sacredly pledged to each 
other, the correspondence naturally assumed a somewhat 
different tone. Here beside me are the letters she ad- 



IN MEMOPJAM. 19 

dressed to me from that hour until our wedding-day. Still 
further to iUustrate the beautiful traits in her character, I 
trust I may break this privacy without impropriety by 
quoting the following passages : — 

"I can never feel sufficiently grateful to you for having caused my 
heart to beat high with such joyful anticipations. But, above all, I 
would not forget that Being who has brightened the scenes around me, 
and caused joy and gladness to spring in my breast ; at the same time 
bidding me look forward with an eye of faith beyond the transitory 
scenes of life to a state of never-ending felicity." 

" You speak of being ridiculed, and having many enemies ; but you 
have also many friends. And if you had not one friend in the Avide 
world, I should love you the same; nay, I should cling to you even 
closer than I now do. Your path has been one of peculiar trials, but I 
hope and trust no darker clouds will ever surround it." 

" I know that I am anticipating much happiness, but how much dt;- 
pends on myself ! I feel all the weight and responsibility that will de- 
volve upon me. It is indeed a most solemn obligation. May I be en- 
abled, with Divine assistance, to perform it faithfully ! " 

" The thought of being united to you affords me unspeakable delight ; 
and yet the dread of parting from home, and the beloved objects that 
are entwined so closely around my heart, often throws a sadness over me 
which for a while damps the joy that seems in reserve for me. You who 
have known a mother's love, and felt the gentle pressure of the lips and 
the soft hand extended at all times to cheer and strengthen, and received 
from her those early impressions that neither time nor death can efface, 
will not love me the less because I am sometimes sorrowful at the 
thought of parting with the loved ones around me : — 

' Who has not known a mother's voice, and felt 
Its power to soothe, to move, to swa}-, to nieltV 
And when for those slie loves that voice is pra3-er, 
Angels aloft its siiiiplications bear.' " 



20 IN MEMOIUAM. 

" How vapidly the time approaches when I shall surrender myself to 
you, with a holy pledge to live always so as to secure your approbation 
and love; but, above all, to approximate neai'er His throne who is infi- 
nitely lovely, and worthy of our highest adoration and praise ! I tremble 
sometimes, and am utterly cast down and disquieted within me, knowing 
my inability to serve you as I ought; and I start back with the exclama- 
tion, ' Thou, Father, knowest what is best for thy erring and dependent 
child ! ' I am sure I have not been hasty ; but it is a solemn vow I am 
to make before heaven and earth ; and if I do not feel what I profess, 
may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! " 

Even at this remote period, I confess tltat my emotional 
nature is jDowerfully stirred within me as I eontempUite the 
loving trustfulness and moral courage exhibited by her in 
accepting my proffered hand and heart. For her own home 
was the abode of happiness and love ; her fond parents were 
still living to bestow upon her their daily benediction ; her 
brothers and sisters, overflowing with affection, were around 
her ; she was the specially favored one of the family, be- 
cause the youngest daughter ; all the comforts of life were 
abundantly assured to her ; and her domestic and local at- 
tachments were exceedingly strong. And what was my 
situation ? I was struggling against wind and tide to main- 
tain The Liberator ; the chances of speedily realizing what 
are " the uses of adversity," even as touching the ordinary 
conveniences of life, were imminent. Moreover, for my 
espousal of the cause of the despised negro, I was then 
universally derided and anathematized ; I had the worst 
possible reputation as a madman and fanatic ; my personal 
safety was in continual jeopardy, and it was extremely prob- 
lematical how long it would be before the hand of the 
assassin would terminate my life, or my abduction be ef- 
fected b}' hired kidnappers from the South, especially after 
the State of Georgia had, by legislative enactment, oft'ered a 



IN MEMORIAM. 21 

reward of five thousand dollars for my seizure and presenta- 
tion within her limits. Surely, thus situated, thus estimated, 
thus daily liable to a murderous " taking off," it required 
110 ordinar}^ courage and affection for one so delicately 
nurtured as was this dear maiden to make such a change 
and to take such a risk ; but she was thoughtfully as well 
as bravely prepared to look all possible consequences in the 
face. It is true, I was not without warm friends, genuine 
sympathizers, inestimable co-workers ; but, numerically, 
these were only as drops to the pouring rain, and, being 
themselves also under ban, could confer no credit and afford 
no protection. 

Our marriage was consummated in Brooklyn on the 4th 
of September, 1834, our attached friend Rev. Samuel J. 
May officiating on the occasion. By mutual agreement 
there was neither wine nor wedding-cake provided for those 
who witnessed the ceremony, but a bountiful dinner was 
substituted, of which all were cordially invited to partake, 
and there was no lack of festive enjoyment. 

For the first seven months we resided in " Freedom's 
Cottage " — the name we gave it — directly back of the 
present elegant mansion of Major Joseph H. Chadwick, on 
Walnut (then called Back) Street, in Roxbury. It was a 
very picturesque and romantic location — a beautiful grove, 
which still remains, being adjacent to the cottage, and an 
extended and charming rural vista opening from the piazza. 
Now the whole region is so changed, by the running of 
streets and the multiplication of residences, as to be no 
longer recognizable. Its isolation rendered it somewhat 
solitary, but created no anxiety in the bosom of the young 
bride, except that it made it easy, on my going to it after 
night-fall, for any ruffians to waylay me. Before bringing 



22 IN ME MO III AM. 

her to the spot, I wrote her a descri])tiou of it, expressing 
my fear that she might find it unpleasantly lonesome. This 
was her answer : — 

" My short exjjerience has convinced me that the quiet and repose of 
the country are much more favorable to serious reflection than the city. 
In the latter there is so much to attract the attention that, between visit- 
ing and comi^any, little space is left for the improvement of the heart or 
bettering of the understanding. The gay and dissipated have few in- 
tervals for serious thought; reflection is banished from the mind as the 
bane of liunum happiness." 

However, we were frequently cheered by the visits of our 
anti-slavery friends, and it was seldom that we had " an 
unoccupied bed in the house." It was our privilege and 
delight to give hospitable shelter and entertainment to 
George Thompson and family on their arrival from Eng- 
land, until they could make other arrangements. There 
are hallowed memories still clustering around tlie spot, 
though the cottage has since been destroj^ed by fire. 

Mr. Thompson afterward rented a house in Brighton 
Street in the city, but the popular feeling, stimulated by 
the daily press, became so malignant toward him as seri- 
ously to endanger his personal safety, and by the advice of 
his friends he sought a quiet retreat on a farm near Marble- 
head. To prevent his lease being pecuniarily burdensome, 
I assumed it, and accordingly occupied the house that he 
had vacated. The location was favorable to the successful 
perpetration of any outrage that pro-slavery malevolence 
might concoct ; and we were much annoyed, from time 
to time, by the demeanor of evil-looking roughs near our 
premises, who evidently meant mischief. One morning a 
strongly built gallows, having two nooses dangling from it 
— one for Mr. Thompson, the other for myself — appeared 



IN ME MO lU AM. 23 

erected before my street door. The following description of 
it is copied from the Boston Transcript of September 17, 
1835 : — 

" The residents in Brighton Street and vicinity were a good deal 
aUirmed this morning, on discovering a gallows erected in front of Mr. 
Garrison's house, accommodated with cords, arranged with hangmen's 
knots, and all that sort of tiling, a ramiable — as if execution were to 
be ' done on Cawdor.' It bore the superscription, ' By order of Judge 
Lynch.' It excited considerable curiosity and attracted a host of idlers, 
but occasioned no excitement, although it produced much merriment. 
It was taken down about half past ten, innocent of slaughter. It re- 
minded us of a verse of Sophomore poeti'y, that we used to repeat once 
with a good deal of gusto, descriptive of the blazonry, or what some 
' wise fools ' thought ought to have been the escutcheon of the College — 

to wit: — 

Two sticks rampant, 

One stick couchant, 

One rope pendant. 

And Ashuv on tlie end on 't. 

But this rope had nothing 'on the end on't,' and that spoils the 
rhythm." 

The Boston Commercial Gazette — the most venomous 
pro-slavery jomnial in the city — noticed the outrage in this 
manner : — 

" A "-allows was erected in Brighton Street, on Thursday night, di- 
rectly opposite the residence of the infamous Garrison. According to 
the inscription on it, it was raised ' by order of Judge Lynch.' " 

Five weeks afterward, on the memorable 21st of October, 
a mob of five thousand persons, instigated by so called " gen- 
tlemen of property and standing," congregated in front of 
the Anti-Slavery Office, 46 Washington Street, for the pur- 
pose of dispersing a meeting of the Boston Female Anti- 
Slavery Society, and also of seizing Mr. Thompson, ''that 



24 IN MEMORIAM. 

infamous foreign scoundrel," ^ and giving him (as an illus- 
tration of American patriotism) a coat of tar and feathers ; 
but, fortunately, he was not in the city. Disappointed of 
their prey, but seeing that I was in attendance, they laid 
violent hands upon me as a substitute, and nearly stripping 
me of my clothing sought to drag me to the Common, in 
order to inflict upon me the coat of tar and feathers they 
had designed for Mr. Thompson. After a sharp struggle, I 
was rescued from their grasp by the Maj^or,^ aided by an 
extemporized posse ; but it was judged necessary to incar- 
cerate me in the Leverett Street jail that night, on the 
simulated charge of being a disturber of the peace, but only 
in truth with reference to my personal safety. I forbear 
going into further particulars, as nearly all the friends for 
whose perusal this Memorial is specially intended are fa- 
miliar with the transactions of that black-letter day in the 
history of Boston. 

Having promised the ladies connected with the Society 
that I would address them on the occasion, I took an early 

1 The following mob-inciting placard, issued from the ofSce of the Boston Com- 
mercial Guze.tte, was posted in all parts of the city on the morning of the riot : — 

" Thompson, the Abolitionist. That infamous foreign scoundrel, Thompson, 
will hold forth this afternoon at the Liberator Otiice, No. 48 [4(5], Washington 
Street. The present is a fair opportunity for the friends of the Union to snake 
Thompson out ! It will be a contest between the Abolitionists and the friends of the 
Union. A purse of $100 has been raised by a number of patriotic citizens to re- 
ward the individual who shall first lay violent hands on Thompson, so that he may 
be brought to the tar-kettle before dark. Friends of the Union, be vigilant ! 

" Boston, Wednesday, 12 o'clock." 

2 Giving the Mayor (Theodore Lym.\n) what credit is due to him for this inter- 
position, he was, nevertheless, highly culpable during the riot in not recognizing 
the rioters as such, but addressing them only as gentlemen and fellow-citizens ; in 
consenting to their clamorous demand that the sign, " Anti-Slavery Office," 
should be thrown down to them, to be jubilantly broken in pieces; in peremptorily 
ordering the ladies assembled to disperse forthwith to their homes ; and in neglect- 
ing to read the Riot Act, or to take the necessary measures to preserve the peace of 
the citv. 



7A^ MEMORIAM. 25 

dinner and hastened to the meeting to ensure my entrance 
into the hall ; but even then the rioters were in such num- 
bers that it was with great difficulty I succeeded. I went, 
not knowing indeed what things would befall me, but hav- 
ing no doubt that the malignity of the crowd would be 
transferred from Mr. Thompson to myself. My dear wife 
followed as quickly as practicable, but found all communica- 
tion with the hall cut off ; a sore disappointment to her, as 
she fully intended to be one of that heroic company of 
women who showed by their prompt attendance that 
though there might be many to molest, " there were none 
that could make afraid." Though she was conscious of the 
danger to which in all probability I should be exposed, yet 
she made no plea in advance as to the duty or expediency of 
my remaining at home, at least for her sake ; but with 
calmness and fortitude was ready to suffer with or for me, 
as the emergency might require. When the tidings were 
brought to her of what had befallen me, she indicated her 
unshaken faith in my steadfastness by saying, "I do not 
believe my husband will be untrue to his principles." And 
here let me add, on no occasion, however perilous, during 
the whole anti-slavery conflict, did she ever counsel a less 
personal exposure or a more moderate course of action on 
my part. On the contrary, it was her desire that I should 
at all times be firm, courageous, and true to my highest 
convictions ; and I all the more bless her memory for a 
cooperation that was so essential to my domestic tranquillity 
and public service : — 

" For she could see the shadow of her soul 
In all my work, and was well-pleased to feel 
That I could ne'er be rightly true to her, 
If I were recreant to higher aims. 
4 



26 IN ME 310 RI AM. 

She did not grant to me so rich a fief 
As her full love on any hardei* tenure 
Than that of rendering her a single heart; 
And I did service for her priceless gift 
Then best when I obeyed my soul, and trod 
In reverence the path of rectitude." 

At the time of the mob referred to, she was ere long to 
become a mother ; lience her situation was all the more try- 
ing and critical. As " the air was hot with flame " and the 
city delirious with excitement, it was deemed advisable, to 
avoid the risk of a premature birth, that she should make a 
visit to her parental home in Brookljai, where the needful 
repose could be found. A loving rece2:)tion awaited her, and 
there she remained until the advent of her first-born. 

I do not propose to narrate the subsequent clianges and 
vicissitudes of our married life, though many of them were 
of singular interest. In due time seven children were given 
to us, whose filial affection and exemplary behavior well 
repaid whatever of parental care and nurture was bestowed 
upon them.^ 

But, with straitened means and little secondary help, 
the burdens imposed by such a growing family, falling 
mainly upon the wife and mother, are too common in the 
conjugal relation for sjiecial consideration here. Suffice it 
to say, they were borne by her with never-failing cheerful- 

1 The following is the genealogical record of the children: — 
(1.) George Thompson, born February 13, 183G, in Brooklyn, Conn. 
(2.) William Lloyd, born January 21, 1838, in Boston. 
(3.) Wendell Phillips, born June 4, 1840, in Cambridgeport, Mass. 
(4.) Charles Follen, born September 9, 1842, in Cambridgeport, Mass.; died April 8, 

1849, in Boston. 
(.5.) Helen Frances, born December IG, 1844, in Boston. 

(G.) Elizabeth Pease, born December 11, 184G, in Boston; died there April 20, 1848. 
(7.) Francis Jackson, born October 21), 1848, in Boston. 



7.V MEMORIAM. 27 

ness and an inborn aptitude. No home duty or need was 
ever neglected or postponed by ber. She combined the 
" old fashioned " virtues of prudence and economy in the 
use of means, and few knew better than herself how " to 
make the two ends meet." Quick and skilful in its use, 
she was assiduous in plying her needle when not otherwise 
engao-ed, and dexterous in contrivance in all matters of dress 
for herself and little ones. Her taste was excellent ; and 
while she had a strong dislike for mere finery, she duly 
appreciated what was becoming and beautiful. In nothing 
did she seek conspicuity ; her home was the shrine of her 
affection and the heaven of her happiness, and from it she 
rarely absented herself, except on errands of mercy in be- 
half of the poor and needy ; and what it was to her, she 
made it to all her family, full and overflowing. 

Besides the ordinary cares of housekeeping, her strength, 
endurance, and sometimes equanimity, were severely taxed 
on the score of hospitality ; ^ for we were seldom without 
guests, invited or uninvited, desirable or otherwise, for more 
than a quarter of a century, even until the year of jubilee. 
This was mainly owing to the fact that there were only a 
few avowed abolitionists in Boston, and of this number less 
than half a dozen were in a situation to offer welcome and 
entertainment to anti-slavery lecturers, country delegates, 
and visitors to the various anti-slavery anniversaries, newly 
made converts, strangers from abroad, and fugitive slaves. 
There were others who gave us their company because of 
an interest in the cause of temperance, or non-resistance, 

1 It so happens that at this moment an old letter of hers to an absent son is put 
into my hand, in whicli she saj^s: — " We shall live as much as possible within our 
means this j'ear; but you know this is the home for the stranger, and like a hotel 
all the time, and will doubtless continue to be such." But not a word of complaint 
or discouragement. 



28 IN MEMORIAM. 

or some other movement, or because of some peculiar 
crotchet of their own. But this constant influx, though not 
without its trials and embarrassments, — more commonly 
with its enlivening influences, — was invariably met by this 
good housewife in a sweet and gracious manner, notwith- 
standing the heavy load it imposed upon her, single-handed 
as she was much of the time as to help ; for it was, through- 
out, " a labor of love " and sympathy for the poor imbruted 
slaves, whose cause was thus to be aided by hospitable en- 
tertainment of its friends and advocates, and so far a service- 
able contribution to the anti-slavery treasury. In this con- 
nection her executive force and elasticity of spirit were 
particiilarly noteworthy, inasmuch as at a comparatively 
early period, by the overturning of a carriage, the ulna 
of her right arm was forced out of its socket ; causing a 
permanent dislocation, through the culpable misjudgment 
of the surgeon employed, which Avould have rendered the 
arm entirely useless but for the seasonable intervention of 
a more skilful practitioner. 

The first sad vacancy in the family circle was made by 
the death of a lovely infant daughter — " blossom of being, 
seen and gone." Has there not been, ere this, a blissful 
meeting of mother and child ? 

" Oh ! when a mother meets on high 

The babe she lost in infancy, 
Hatli she not then, for pains and fears, 

The day of woe, the anxious niglit. 
For all her sorrow, all her tears. 

An ovei'-payment of delight? " 

Another yet more afflicting vacancy occurred at the death 
of our fourth son, Charles Follen — named after one of my 
dearest friends and supporters, the lamented Professor of 



IN MEMORIAM. 29 

Harvard University, whose tragic end by the burning of 
the steamer Lexington^ in Long Island Sound, will long be 
mournfully remembered. Our darling was in the seventh 
year of his age — as bright, beautiful and loving as parental 
affection and aspiration could desire — full of promise, 
beaming witli intelligence, and " the very picture of bloom- 
ing health ; " but he was suddenly stricken with brain-fever, 
induced by a lamentable exposure, from which he never 
rallied. His mother never fully recovered from the blow. 
Writing to a distant friend at the time with reference to 
the sad event, she said : — 

" You knew and loved tlie noble boy, and can imagine the aoliing void 
there is in our bosoms, and how desolate we are made by the removal of 
our loved and cherished one. Every hour, indeed every moment, he is 
before me in all his beauty and freshness; ^ and I long to clasp him to 
my heart, and hear once more those joyous notes which would be music 
to my soul. I try to be resigned, I endeavor to be cheerful, but it is all 
forced ; my heart is ready to break." 

The sting of this deep anguish lay in her conviction that 
the dear boy had been prematurely cut off by his case not 
having been properly treated ; and, therefore, like " Rachel, 
mourning for her children," she " refused to be comforted ; " 
so deep-rooted and intense was her maternal nature. 

On the 23d of February, 1861, she completed her fiftieth 
year. Here is a congratulatory letter addressed to her on 

1 Recalling the pathetic effusion by Rev. John Pierpout, elicited by a similar 
bereavement in his own case, commencing — 

" I cannot make him dead I 

His fair sunshiny head 
Is ever bounding round my study chair; 

Yet when my eyes, now dim 

AVith tears, I turn to him, 
The vision vanishes — he is not there 1 " 



30 IN MEMORIAM. 

that anniversary, of the preservation of which I was ignorant 
until this hour. Written only for her own perusal, may I 
be pardoned for giving it in this connection, as illustrative 
of the estimation in which she was held by all her family ? 

" My Beloved Wife : 

" Your feet stand upon the summit-level of half a century. To-day 
completes your fiftieth year! Our dear children and I most lovingly 
congratulate you on the auspicious event, not on account of increasing 
age, but because of the prolongation of your life to this hour, in good 
health. We desire to present to you such a token of that love as will 
prove alike useful and ornamental, though utterly inadequate, and there- 
fore Ave wish you to accept the accompanying gold watch, which will 
mark the hours as they fly till time with you shall be no longer, and you 
shall enter that heavenlj- sphere where there shall be neither death nor 
decay, but ' all are as the angels of God.' With its every tick will beat 
in unison our hearts' affectionate pulsations towards you, subject, how- 
ever, to ' no variableness, nor shadow of turning.' 

" As a wife, for a period of more than twenty-six years, you have left 
nothing undone to smooth the rugged pathway of my public career — to 
render home the all-powerful magnet of attraction, and the focal point 
of domestic enjoyment — to make my welfare and happiness at all times 
a matter of tender solicitude — and to demonstrate the depth and fixed- 
ness of that love which you so long ago plighted to me. If I have not 
been profuse with lip acknowledgments of your constancy and worth, 
be assured it is not because I have not clearly perceived and fully ap- 
preciated them, but because words seem expressionless in such a case. 
The highest praise is conveyed where no fault is ever found with the 
manner in which you discharge the daily household responsibilities rest- 
ing upon you, but, on the contrary, where every thing is quietly recog- 
nized as complete and perfect. Whatever of human infirmity we may 
have seen in each other, I believe few have enjoyed more unalloyed 
bliss in wedded life than ourselves. 

" As a mother, you have ever been watchful, devoted, imwearied. Our 
children will always have cause to be grateful for the manner in which 
you have consulted their comfort, safety and happiness, — sparing no 
labor in their behalf, exerting upon them a blessed influence, and folding 
them in the arms of your motherly affection. 



Z.V MEMORIAM. 31 

*' As for tlie future — 

' Serene will be our diu-s :ind bright, 
And happy will our nature be, 
When love is an unerring light, 
And joy its own security.' 

" Dear wife and mother! we unitedly join in giving you our fervent 
benediction, and wishing you many a happy birthday. 
" In behalf of all the children, 

"Your loving Husband." 

It was a fortunate as well as remarkable coincidence, that 
her health never broke down from the time of her marriage 
until after the Proclamation of Emancipation by President 
Lincoln had given the death-blow to the slave system ; thus 
releasing her from those domestic labors and liabilities to 
which she had so long been habituated. Still, these had 
never impaired her zeal and activity, through the long and 
arduous struggle preceding and ultimating in that great act 
of justice, in soliciting contributions, working diligently with 
her hands, and rendering whatever other assistance she 
could, to crown with success the Boston Anti-Slavery Ba- 
zaar, as one of its managers, from year to year — a method 
of raising funds and giving a fresh impetus to the cause, 
then of primary importance. Afterward, transferring her 
benevolent interest to the relief and enlightenment of the 
suddenly emancipated bondmen, she did what she could to 
promote that urgent supplemental work. 

Hitherto she had remained closely at home, declining all 
solicitations to seek even a brief respite from family cares ; 
but she was now ready to accompany me to Philadelphia, 
where, on the 4th of December, 1863, the thirtieth anniver- 
sary of the formation of the American Anti-Slavery Society 
was celebrated, — an occasion of the highest enjoyment to 



32 IN MEAfORIAM. 

her, meeting as she did so many of the devoted workers in 
the cause, and receiving from the friends in Philadelphia 
such an affectionate greeting. Returning to her home 
shortly afterward, and while apparently in the very fulness 
of health, she received a paralytic stroke on the night of 
the 29th of the same month, affecting the entire left side, 
which rendered her insensible, and for a long period entirely 
helpless, and terminated all further activity in the sphere 
she had so usefully filled. It was now her turn to be minis- 
tered unto for the remainder of life, instead of ministering 
unto others; though, to the last, her disposition to help her- 
self and avoid giving trouble to others was evinced on all 
occasions. 

It was always a solace to remember that her last efforts 
were in behalf of the poor Southern freedmen, as she had de- 
voted a considerable portion of that day in soliciting aid for 
them in various directions ; those upon whom she called 
remarking her glowing features, as one to be envied for her 
fine physical condition. 

In 1840 and 1846, I was deputed to visit Great Britain 
in furtherance of the anti-slavery cause. It was a hard 
struggle to leave her who so much needed my presence and 
assistance ; but for the slave's sake, she not only cheerfully 
consented to my going, but desired me to forget all family 
considerations, notwithstanding the prolonged absence that 
must follow in each instance. But this was prior to her 
paralytic condition, and therefore her characteristic self- 
sacrificing spirit was less strikingly exhibited than when, 
though thus heavily stricken, she again approved of my cross- 
ing the Atlantic, partly on a similar errand, and partly with 
reference to the impaired state of my health. This was in 
1867 ; thus enabling me to participate as a delegate in the 



IN MEMORIAM. 33 

Worltrs Anti-Slavery Conference at Paris, and to join with 
my old and endeared co-laborers in Great Britain in mutual 
congratulations that not a slave was left to clank his chains 
on the American soil. Her readiness to forego all thought 
of hei'self ^Yas the more touching, seeing that her only 
daughter and youngest son were at that time in Europe. 
In a letter to the former, with her accustomed humility, she 
wrote as follows : — 

" You give me altogether too much credit for self-forgetfulness. I 
fear I possess a small amount, compared to the dear ones who watched 
me through my sickness so fondly and with such untiring devotion, when 
my nervous system was so deranged. I should indeed be ungrateful if 
I could not make some sacrifices for others' pleasure. ... I cannot ex- 
press the joy I feel at being permitted to see three of my children hap- 
pily mariied ; and really I do not know how I could have borne the 
separation, if 1 did not live over in my children all their joys again. 
I have been wonderfully sustained, and trust I may be spared till I have 
seen you all once more in the flesh ; but if ordered otherwise, you will 
be comforted by the reflection that your duty towards your mother was 
most faithfully performed. If there are regrets, they will be on my own 
side ; though I can truly say I did wish to jicrform my duty to each and 
all of you." 

And again, at a later date : — 

" My hap2)iness is in seeing others made to feel that they are appre- 
ciated, and to add my mite to their enjoyment But I need noth- 
ing so much as your dear smiling face to cheer and enliven my few re- 
maining days." 

Writing to her husband, then in Paris, she said : — 

" Our children are all good, and thoughtful of me in their attentions, 
and I feel amply repaid and ever grateful for such blessings. If I do 
not enjoy health, I have my family to compensate for its loss, and the 
discipline no doubt I needed. Then I am so glad that yau were spared 
the ti'ial, and that it came to me instead, whose usefulness was small at 
any time. Though I feel yonr absence so much, 1 bear up serenely, 
knowing, if all is well, the welcome day will arrive to unite us more lov- 
5 



34 IN MEMORIAM. 

ingly than ever ; therefore do not feel the slightest uneasiness on my 
aeconnt. Enjoy all you can. It does me good to think of you all with 
such opportunities for seeing so much that is novel, entertaining and 
attractive." 

Surely, this was a large sacrifice for her to make, and 
clear proof of innate self-forgetfulness. 

A conspicuous trait in her character was a strong dislike 
of anything like tattling. Another one was, if at any time 
prompted to condemn or criticise something unseeinly in 
others, she was sure to more than balance the account by 
recalling what she deemed was to their credit ; so kind was 
she in her feelings, and so wishful to judge righteously. 

" She had that gift of patient tenderness, 
The instinctive wisdom of a woman's heart, 
AVhich, seeing Right, can yet forget the. Wrong, 
And, strong itself to comfort and sustain, 
Yet leans with full-confiding piety 
On the great Spirit that enriches all." 

Some months after she became a paralytic, we removed 
from Boston, by the advice of our family physician, to Rox- 
bury Highlands, three miles from the centre of the city, 
where we fortunately secured a most desirable residence, 
with highly attractive surroundings, and on an elevation 
that furnished an abundance of air and light. For more 
than eleven years, sitting daily at the same window, she 
resiguedly passed the remainder of her days, with her fac- 
ulties well preserved and her general health excellent, 
greatly enjoying the visits of her numerous friends, habitu- 
ally cheerful, giving herself to much reading, and using her 
pen in epistolary writing as a pleasant recreation. Fortu- 
nately, with one exception, all her children were either with 
or near her most of the time, to relieve the tediousness of her 



IN MEMORIAM. 35 

confinement by their cheering companionship and affection- 
ate attentions. She lived to see four of them happily inar- 
ried, and herself crowned with eleven dear grandchildren as 
a sequence : — 

" And in the mother's heart found room for all ! " 

This shall be recorded to her praise : during that long 
period, in no instance did ever a murmur escape her lips at 
her crippled lot ; still, it troubled her that she had to be so 
dependent upon others, even though they were of her own 
household, and especially that she could not exert herself for 
the good of others as aforetime. But this regret was miti- 
gated by the consoling reflection that sustained Milton in 
his blindness — 

" They also serve who only stand and wait ; " 

and no finer panegyric was ever bestowed than this : " She 
hath done what she could." 

If she could no longer be actively employed, her mind 
was, if possible, even mote exercised in thinking of the ne- 
cessities and deprivations of others, and in distributing with 
a liberal hand what she had to bestow ; knowing by experi- 
ence how much more blessed it is to give than to receive. 

Christmas eve (1875) she participated in the festivities of 
the occasion — her children, grandchildren, neighbors and 
friends crowding the parlor to witness the brilliantly illu- 
minated gift tree, laden with numerous beautiful tokens 
of loving remembrances, and to join in those mutual kind 
Avishes which the Christmas season never fails to elicit. Her 
happiness was greatly enhanced by the presence of her be- 
loved daughter, for whose return from a foreign land she 
had for some time been anxiously waiting, and who was now 
to be her daily comfort and inspiration. 



36 IN MEMORIAM. 

On the succeeding 21st of January, the birthday anniver- 
sary of one of her children, she received and gave congratu- 
hitions, and enjoyed a social visit from an attached friend, 
giving no indication of what was impending. The next 
day she showed signs of weakness and distress, proceeding 
from a sudden cold ; but though these symptoms continued 
to grow worse, and her sufferings to increase, no thought of 
her dissolution was entertained until the morning of the 
25th, when she expii-ed without a struggle. It was a case 
of acute pneumonia. 

" She hatli done her bidding here, 
Angels dear ! 
Bear her ransomed soul above, 

Seraph of the skies, — sweet love ! 
Good she was, and fair in youth ; 
And her mind was seen to soar, 
And her heart was wed to truth : 
Take her, then, forevermore, — 
Forever — evemnore I" 

W. L. G. 



TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 



The funeral took place at the home, 125 Highland Street, 
Roxbury, on Thursday, January 27, at noon. As the rooms 
Avould not have contained all who would have wished to at- 
tend, no public announcement of it was made, but in spite 
of a snow-storm that prevailed, the parlors were filled with 
a large assemblage of friends gathered to testify their love 
and respect for her whose spirit had departed. There were 
present some who had known her in her girlhood, before her 
marriage ; others who had welcomed her when, as a young 
bride, she had first come to Boston, and so cheerfully taken 
up her share of that cross which lay upon all who were en- 
gaged in the slave's cause ; and many who had been co- 
laborers with her husband and herself in the work to which 
their lives were given. The friend (Rev. Samuel May) 
who conducted the services was one of these, and was, more- 
over, a near relative of the sainted minister who had united 
them in marriage. The chief eulogy was fittingly spoken 
by Mr. Phillips, who had been for many long years the in- 
timate friend and associate of them both. Dr. Putnam 
testified to the esteem and affection with which the patient 
invalid|was regarded by the neighborhood in which she had 
spent the last eleven years of her life, — the years when her 
bodily powers were so crippled, but her mind and thought 



38 TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 

for others remained so active ; and Mrs. Lucy Stone added 
a few feeling words of tribute. 

The sweet face in the casket bore no trace of pain or suf- 
fering, but looked fresh and fair, as if fifteen years had been 
taken from the life of the sleeper, and all who looked upon 
it rejoiced that they could carry away so pleasant a memory. 
Loving hands had draped the portrait which hung in the 
parlor with smilax, and flowers in rich profusion were brought 
and laid upon and around the casket. The cheerful light of 
day was not excluded, and the occasion, though sad and 
tender, was without gloom. All of her children were 
present ; and the pi'esence of the husband and father, who 
was confined to his bed by illness, was alone wanting to 
complete the family group, in which Death had now entered 
for the first time in twenty-seven years. 

REMARKS OF REV. SAMUEL MAY. 

That event has come to this household which all her 
friends — and they were many — have known must come at 
no remote period ; which comes to all of us, sometimes un- 
awares ; but as it comes here, it brings no gloom with it, no 
despondency, no shaking of faith, no impairing of trust ; 
but an increase of faith, of trust, of love, and of thankfulness 
to the Father of us all. 

Mr. May then read some appropriate passages from the 
Scriptures, after which Wendell Phillips spoke as follows : — 

REMARKS OF WENDELL PHILLIPS. 

How hard it is to let our friends go ! We cling to them 
as if separation were separation forever ; and yet, as life 
nears its end, and we tread the last years together, have we 



TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 39 

any right to be surprised that the circle grows narrow ? — 
that so many fall, one after another, at our side ? Death 
seems to strike very frequently ; but it is only the natural, 
inevitable fate, however sad for the moment. 

Some of us can recollect, only twenty years ago, the large 
and loving group that lived and worked together ; the joy 
of companionship, sympathy with each other — almost our 
only joy — for the outlook was very dark, and our toil 
seemed ahnost vain. The world's dislike of what we aimed 
at, the social frown, obliged us to be all the world to each 
other ; and yet it was a full life. The life w^as worth liv- 
ing ; the labor was its own reward ; we lacked nothing. 

As I stand by this dust, my thoughts go freshly back to 
those pleasant years when the warp and woof of her life 
w^ere w^oven so close to the rest of us ; when the sight of it 
was such an inspiration. How cheerfully she took up daily 
the burden of sacrifice and effort ! With what serene 
courage she looked into the face of peril to her own life, 
and to those who were dearer to her than life ! A 3'oung 
bride brought under such dark skies, and so ready for them ! 
Trained among Friends, with the blood of martyrdom and 
self-sacrifice in her veins, she came so naturally to the altar ! 
And when the gallows was erected in front of the young 
bride's windows, never from that stout soul did the husband 
get look or word that bade him do anything but go steadily 
forward, and take no counsel of man. Sheltered in the jail, 
a great city hunting for his life, how strong he must have 
been when they brought him his young wife's brave words : 
" I know my husband will never betray his principles ! " 
Helpmeet, indeed, for the pioneer in that terrible fight ! 
The most unselfisli of human beings, she poured all her 
strengtli into the lives of those about her, without asking 



40 TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 

acknowledgment or recognition, unconscious of the sacrifice. 
With marvellous ability, what would have been weary bur- 
dens to others, slie lifted so gaily ! A young mother, with 
the cares of a growing family, not rich in means, only her 
own hands to help, yet never failing in cheerful welcome to 
every call ; doing for others as if her life was all leisure and 
her hands full. What rare executive ability, doing a great 
deal, and so easily as to never seem burdened ! Who ever 
saw her reluct at any sacrifice her own purpose or her hus- 
band's made necessary ? No matter how long and weary 
the absence, no matter how lonely he left her, she cheered 
and strengthened him to the sacrifice if his great cause 
asked it. The fair current of her husband's grand purpose 
swept on unchecked by any distracting anxiety. Her en- 
ergy and unselfishness left him all his strength free for the 
world's service. 

Many of you have seen her only in years when illness 
hindered her power. You can hardly appreciate the large 
help she gave the anti-slavery movement. 

That home was a great help. Her husband's word and 
pen scattered his purpose far and wide ; but the comrades 
that his ideas brouglit to his side her welcome melted into 
friends. No matter how various and discordant they were 
in many things — no matter how much there was to bear 
and overlook — her patience and lier thanks for their sympa- 
thy in the great idea were always sufficient for this work 
also. She made a family of tliem, and her roof was always 
a home for all. I never shall forget the deep feeling — his 
voice almost breaking to tears — with which Henry C. 
Wright told me of the debt his desolate life owed to this 
home. And who shall say how much that served the great 
cause ? Yet drudger^^ did not choke thought ; care never 



TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 41 

narrowed her interest. She was not merely the mother, 
or the head of a home ; her own life and her husband's 
moved hand in hand in such loving accord, seemed so 
exactly one, that it was hard to divide their work. At the 
fireside, — in the hours, not frequent, of relaxation, — in 
scenes of stormy debate, — that beautiful presence, of rare 
sweetness and dignity, what an inspiration and power it 
was ! And then the mother — fond, painstaking, faithful ! 
No mother who bars every generous thought out from her 
life, and in severe seclusion forgets everything but her chil- 
dren — no such mother was ever more exact in every duty, 
ready for every care, faithful at every point, more lavish in 
fond thoughtfulness, than this mother, whose cares never 
narrowed the broad idea of life she brought from her girl- 
hood's home. 

Who can forget her modest dignity — shrinkingly modest 
— yet ever equal to the high place events called her to ? 
In that gi'oup of remarkable men and women which the 
anti-slavery movement drew together, she had her own 
niche, — which no one else could have filled so perfectly or 
unconsciously as she did. And in that rounded life no over 
zeal in one channel, no extra service at one point, needs be 
offered as excuse for shortcoming elsewhere. She forgot, 
omitted nothing. How much vv^e all owe her ! She is not 
dead. She has gone before ; but sher has not gone away. 
Nearer than ever, this very hour she watches and ministers 
to those in whose lives she was so wrapped ; to whose hap- 
piness she was so devoted. Who thinks that loving heart 
could be happy if it were not allowed to minister to those 
she loved ? How easy it is to fancy the welcome the old 
faces have given her ! The honored faces ; the familiar 
faces ; the old tones, that have carried her back to the pleas- 

6 



42 TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 

ant years of health, and strength, and willing labor ! How 
gladly she broke the bonds that hindered her activity ! 
There are more there than liei-e. Very slight the change 
seems to her ! She has not left us, — she has rejoined them. 
She has joined the old band that worked life-long for the 
true and the good. The dear, familiar names, how freshly 
they come to our lips ! We can see them bend over and 
lift her up to them, to a broader life. Faith is sight to-day. 
She works on a higher level ; ministers to old ideas ; guards 
those she went through life with so lovingly. Even in that 
higher work they watch for our coming also. Let the years 
yet spared us here be warning to make ourselves fit for that 
companionship ! 

The separation is hard. Nature will have its way. 
" The heart knoweth its own bitterness," and for a while 
loves to dwell on it ; needs perhaps to dwell on it. But the 
hour is just here, knocking at the door, when we shall thank 
God not only for the long years of companionship, and 
health, and example, which she has given us, but for this 
great relief : that, in fulness of time, in loving-kindness. He 
hath broken the bond which hindered her. No heaven that 
is not a home to her. She worked with God here, and He 
has taken her into his presence. We are sad because of 
the void at our side. It is hard to have the path so empty 
around us. We miss that face and those tones. But that 
is the body : limited, narrow, of little faith. The soul 
shines through in a moment, sees its own destiny, and 
thanks God for the joyous change. We draw sad breaths 
now. We miss the magnet that kept this home together. 
We miss the tie that bound so lovingly into one life so many 
lives. That is broken. We peer into the future, and fear 
for another void still, and a narrower circle, not knowing 



TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 43 

which of ns will be taken next. With an effort of patience 
— with half-submission — we bow to God's dealings. That 
is only for an hour. In a little while we shall remember 
the grand life ; we shall thank God for the contribution it 
has made to the educating forces of the race ; for the good 
it has been prompted to do ; for the part it had strength to 
play in the grandest drama of our generation ; and then, 
with our eyes lifted, and not dimmed by tears, we shall be 
able to say, out of a full heart, " Thou doest all things well. 
Blessed be Thy name I Blessed be Thy name for the three- 
score overflowing years ; for the sunny sky she was" per- 
mitted finally to see — the hated name made immortal — 
the perilled life guarded by a nation's gratitude ; for the 
capstone put on with shoutings ; that she was privileged to 
enter the promised land and rest in the triumph, with the 
family circle mibroken — all she loved about her ! And 
blessed be Thy name, Father, that in due time, with gra- 
cious and . tender loving-kindness, Thou didst break the 
bonds that hindered her true life, and take her to higher 
service in thine immediate presence ! " 

Mr. May. Dr. Putnam, a near neighbor and friend of 
Mr. and Mrs, Garrison, is with us, and it is hoped that he 
may be moved to make some remarks to us now. 

REMARKS OF REV. DR. PUTNAM. 

I feel loath to mar the impression that has just been 
made by the remarks of Mr. Phillips, and yet I feel grateful 
for the privilege accorded me by this family to say a word. 
All I can say will be as the representative of this little neigh-* 
borhood, where this dear woman has spent only the closing 



44 TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 

years of her life, when her strength was gone and the flower 
of her days was passed. And yet I would be glad that her 
numerous friends from abroad, and from the city proper, 
should know that we, too, appreciated her, even with our 
slight opportunity of acquaintance. Mr. Phillips has given 
a sketch of her life and character that to me is new, for I 
knew nothing of it before. He has told us of all that was 
lovely and gentle ; of all that was strong and noble. We 
in this neighborhood could not be said to know this before ; 
and yet we did know it. We divined it all. We could see 
it all in the presence and the spirit of that poor lame in- 
valid. Those qualities were no longer in vigorous action ; 
but they were there just the same, and we all saw them. 
She would sit at that window in the opposite parlor, day 
after day, year after year, it seemed to me, looking out 
upon us, to see what was going on, and we knew perfectly 
well that she felt a tender and kindly human interest in us 
all. We could measure the depths of her heart, and see 
what they wovdd be in the circumstances of her strong 
years. She knew us all, though she could very rarely climb 
our doorsteps to give us a call, and was not always able to 
see us if we came to see her ; but she cared for us all, and 
we knew that. Not with the interest of a gossip, but with 
the interest of kindly sympathies and a large, warm heart ; 
inquiring for us all, showing an interest in us all. And, 
then, what slie had been to her family ! She has only ap- 
peared, since she has been here, as an invalid, sitting in her 
chair to be waited upon ; and the way in which the family 
cherished her, the way in which they attended her, showed 
that it was not mere duty, — to bear a burden. The very 
'manner of their waiting upon her, of their speaking to her, 
told us, although they did not know that they were telling 



TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 45 

US, that they considered her the best of them all ; that she 
had been the main beam of the family fabric to their feel- 
ing ; that she was the one who had been the light of their 
dwelling, and was still, and would be, however infirm or 
helpless ; that she had been the sunshine of their hearts. 
They could not help telling us, though they never said a 
word about it. 

I only wanted to say that we knew before all that Mr. 
Phillips told us ; that is, we had divined it all. We shall 
miss her from the neighborhood. We could see but little 
of her. She could do but little ; but she was a kindly in- 
fluence. We shall miss it. What the loss will be to this 
family it is not for me to say, nor for anybody else ; but I 
know they will be grateful as long as they live for all that 
she has been to them and done for them ; and I know they 
will be especially grateful for all that they have been privi- 
leged to be to her and to do for her. They will be willing, 
now that her work has all been done, and so well done ; her 
burden all borne, and so patiently and sweetly borne, — 
they will be willing that the worn frame should go to its 
rest, and fall into that sleep which God giveth his beloved. 
They know that it is not a real parting. She will be with 
them, and they know it, by innumerable pleasant and 
blessed memories ; by influences more than they can meas- 
ure ; and with them in what angelic service we know not ; 
but yet their own — their very own, forever. 

Mr. May. I know it' will be grateful to the family, 
and I so understand, if others who may feel moved to add a 
word of regret and sympathy will do so. There are those 
here who knew our dear friend, and have known her for 
many years. I see Lucy Stone here, who was so near to 



46 TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 

her, and also other friends, the expression of whose sym- 
pathy will be, I have no doubt, acceptable. 

EEMARKS OF MRS. LUCY STONE. 

One does not know what to say at a time like this. But 
our sympathy is with those who are bereaved. Tender and 
beautiful tributes have been paid to the sleeper there. We 
know that this family will miss her from the chair where 
she always sat, and from the window out of which she was 
accustomed to look on the moving world in^which she could 
take no active part, even more than if she had not been 
almost limited to that one spot. 

We who come up to her door shall miss the welcome she 
always gave, and her parting smile when we went away. 
But the pleasant and hallowed memories are left, and will 
always remain. 

This dear friend, by reason of her infirmities in later 
years, was unable to participate in the reform work which 
went on all around her. But she rendered valuable service 
by her earnest interest, by her quiet and cheerful presence. 
She took things as they came, and encouraged those who 
were in the midst of the work. 

For the young people she had always a word. They too 
will miss her a? well as we who are older. We are all of us 
going after her, and I only wish that we could go as well 
assured that what we had to do was done as thoroughly, as 
patiently, and with as much of the true spirit that ought to 
be in us all, as we believe she had who sat a patient waiter, 
working in her waiting. 

JNIr. jNIay. John Milton wrote some lines on a dear 
friend, a lady, which may be appropriately read as appli- 
cable to her in whose memory we are assembled : — 



TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 47 

" When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, 

Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God, 

Meekly thou didst resion this earthly load 
Of mortal life, which us from life doth sever. 
Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavor, 

Stay'd not behind, nor in the grave were trod ; ' 

But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod, 
FoUow'd thee up to joy and bliss forever. 

Love led them on, and Faith, who knew them best. 
Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams 

And azure wings, that up they flew so drest. 
And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes 

Before the Judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest. 
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams." 

My friends, I feel that our whole service here — if service 
it may be called — the whole spontaneous utterance of the 
hour, the heart-felt tributes, the beautiful aspirations, have 
all been a prayer of the best kind. Our thouglits have been 
carried upwards ; carried by her and her memory, carried 
by those who have so feelingly and touchingly spoken to us, 
up to the Father of our spirits and to the pure, immortal 
streams where now she walks. There is no need of formal 
prayer. This household has ever believed in the prayer of 
the life more than in that of the lips. Yet, when I first 
knew Helen Benson, — and I do not know but that, with 
the exception of her own sister, I am the one in this house 
who has known her longest of any, longer even than her 
husband, — she was a girl of but nineteen years, fresh and 
bright, in the village of Brooklyn, Connecticut, a member of 
the religious Society of my cousin, Samuel J. May, and a 
faithful helper of his, young as she was ; a constant sympa- 
thizer with him in all the good work he attempted to do, 
and his dear friend as long as he lived. She often prayed 
with him in word and spirit ; and, because of those memo- 



48 TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 

ries, I will close this service with a brief, God grant it be 
not a formal, praj^er ! 

We look up to Thee, our Father in heaven, Avith our hearts' blessing;, 
with trust and sui)plication ; with our prayer for Thy pit}' ami Thy for- 
giveness. We come to Thee, knowing that it is our chief privilege 
to be able to have communion with Thee in thought, and to be fellow- 
workers with Thee in our life ; knowing that it is our only honor and 
distinction to be indeed Thy sons and Thy daughters; true, willing, con- 
stant subjects of Thy government ; living in Thy service, and so living 
as to find that it is perfect freedom. We remember before Thee in this 
hour all that life which has been recounted in its spirit before us at this 
time, and all of which is seen and known of Thee so perfectly. We re- 
member it with thankfulness to Thee, renewing our blessing to Thy 
name that thou didst give her strength for the work given her to do. 
And we remember, too, that when all those activities, all that service, 
that loving, constant, unintermitted service to those who were dear to her 
and to all who came within her influence, were arrested as in a moment, 
— we remember humbly and gratefully how cheerful was her patience, 
how unmurmuring her acceptance of what Thy hand laid upon her. We 
remember and bless Thy name, that without repining, though it must 
have been so great a trial, she yielded to Thy will; that she did not 
regard it as a harsh and unmerciful dispensation, but as the hand of her 
Father who by suffering would lead her nearer to whatever is beautiful, 
and holy, and acceptable in thy sight. We give her back to Thee ; yea, 
we yield up her companionship here, knowing that the separation is brief; 
that the interval must needs be short when again, in higher service, we 
may, through thine infinite mercy, be found worthy to join her again in 
the Father's home, in that " house not made Avith hands, eternal in 
the heavens." We invoke Thy blessing to rest and remain here. We 
would say, " Peace be unto this house." We would ask, O God, in sin- 
cere submission, but with earnest desire, that the health of him who 
cannot be personally with us this day, though so near and in spirit with 
us, may be restored; that again he may be enabled to join in the service 
of those truths and those great aims to which it is his delight to conse- 
crate himself. May we have the continued solace of his companionship, 
the guidance of his counsel, the help of his strength, the support of his 
love and friendship ; and our country and the world rejoice in re- 



TRIBUTES AT THE FUNERAL. 49 

taining liim here yet many years. But Thy will be done, in this event, 
and in all events ; and bring us, we pray Tliee, through eveiy discipline, 
ever nearer and nearer to Thyself. And we will render to Thee only 
praise, thanksgiving, and blessing forever. Amen. 

At the conclusion of Mr. May's words, the friends present 
looked for the last time upon the placid face of her whom 
they had so dearly loved, and who had now entered into the 
life beyond, and the remains were then borne to the beauti- 
ful cemetery at Forest Hills. There, where she had so often 
loved to ride during the pleasant summer days, her dust 
was tenderly deposited by the children to whom she had 
been such a true and devoted mother. 
7 



[COPY OF THE MEMORIAL CARD.] 



Ix Affectionate Remembrance 

OF 

WIFE OF WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON, 

Born Feukuary 23, 1811. 
Died January 25, 1876. 



' God calls our loved ones, hut we lose not wholli/ 

What He has given; 
They live on earth, in thomjht and deed, as truli/ 
As in his heaven." 



OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 

EXTRACTS FROM PRIVATE LETTERS FROM FRIENDS. 

I HAVE been very deeply affected by the numerous letters 
of sympathy and condolence which this bereavement has 
elicited from cherished friends and acquaintances on both 
sides of the Atlantic ; but a protracted illness having pre- 
vented replies to these, except in a few instances, those 
friends who have received no direct acknowledgment are 
requested to accept this little volume as an expression of 
the gratitude felt by myself and children for their kind and 
consolatory words, and their warm and affectionate tributes 
to the wife and mother who is here commemorated. The 
following extracts from a feAV of these are given as showing 
how widely beloved she was, and how thoroughly esteemed 
and appreciated by all who knew her. 

W. L. G. 



" It was with sorrow but not surprise that I heard of the depart- 
ure of my dearly loved friend ; and to-day comes the sweet memo- 
rial of her. It is difficult to tliiuk of her otherwise than as she 
was when a lovely, blushing maiden of twenty summers. My 
mind and heart go back to the old time when, as a child, I looked 
upon her as the best beloved friend of my long since sainted sister. 
She was then very beautiful ; so seemly, and so loving and pure- 
minded ; so all that could enlist admiration and love. 

" The little visit made to your home, last fell, will ever be treas- 
ured as a season of renewed friendship, refreshing and very pleasant. 



52 OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 

On parting then, I did not expect to look upon her again here, for 
I saw how frail was her hold on life ; but I was so glad to know 
that she would fiide as she had lived — upheld and cared for by 
the strongest ties of earthly love. Sweet and precious spirit ! how 
we hope and trust to again behold her, where trial and suffering 
are lost in the brightness of spiritual light ! " 

Providence, R. I. s. A. G. 

" I hope that you will not think me intrusive, in this hour of be- 
reavement, in proffering my sympathy. I have thought myself 
warranted by our friendshi]) of more than forty years ; and yet 
more, by the love and appreciation with which I have always re- 
garded your dear wife. When I was first introduced to her, she 
took my imagination captive by her sweetness, frankness and 
vivacity, and from that time I have remained her loyal admirer. 
Before I ever saw her, I was prepared, by Rev. Samuel J. May, to 
find her lovely, and all my subsequent acquaintance with her has 
confirmed the impressions of the first interview. How disinterested 
she was ! how true and uncompromising in matters of principle ! 
how devoted to her family ! and how benevolent and helpful 
towards all who sought her aid and sympathy ! Inexpressibly sad 
was the illness which prostrated her, and made her so dependent, 
the latter part of her life. It imposed upon her many privations, 
but it could not impair her loveliness ; and it was always a privi- 
lege to be with her. How blessed she must be now, released from 
the infirmities of the body, with fresh vigor for the higher uses of 
the higher life, in glad companionship with the many loved ones 
who have gone before, waiting for the dear ones to join her whom 
she has left behind, and perhaps nearer to them on the spiritual 
side than she could be when here ! " 

Somerville, Mass. H. M. P. 

"Your Card (In Memoriam) of the dear departed one I shall 
treasure in fond remembrance. It was tenderly gracious in you to 



OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 53 

number me among those not to be forgotten of her personal friends. 
I can never foroet the early impression the sweet sisters at Brook- 
lyn made upon me ; and although the cares and absorbing duties 
of my subsequent life have removed me from the presence of my 
friends, and the interchange of the sweet courtesies and amenities of 
society, those charming days at Brooklyn are hallowed to my 
memory as among the happiest of my girlhood. It was a lovely 
circle of peace, good-will and godliness. 

" I am quite sure you must find great comfort, in this your hour 
of sadness and sorrow, in the fond remembrance of your faithfulness 
to this dear companion of your eventful life. And we must be 
reconciled (in this advanced stage of our lives) to these sad events, 
confidently believing that there shall be a blessed reunion of those 
who have gone on trustingly to the end." 

Concord, Mass. a. m. a. 

"I welcome the tender, pathetic Memorial Card just received 
from you ; for it is very pleasant to me to think that it expresses 
my claim to the friendship of your dear wife. How beautiful she 
seemed to me when I first saw her, — so gracious, dignified, deli- 
cate and winsome ! But each year made that first impression 
deeper still, as I saw the loveliness of character which had wrought 
so much of that outward attractiveness ; the beautiful traits which 
her perfect humility could not conceal ; what hearty, wise mother- 
liuess and pure disinterestedness ; the gift of a cheerful temper, 
the blessing of a sensitive heart, ready to enter into the joys and 
griefs of all about her ; the innumerable graces of a frank, gentle, 
playful nature ; so utterly unassuming, and yet so fine a represen- 
tative of true womanhood ! 

" My tender sympathies are with you and your children, that 
her sweet presence is withdrawn from the sight of loving eyes ; 
but she has left you from her pure, beautiful life what time can 
never take away." 

Boston, Mass. h. e. s. 



54 OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 

"I have just learnecl, through the papers, your great liereave- 
ment, by the decease of your excellent wife ; and though I know 
how feeble are any words to speak consolation for such a loss, yet 
I cannot deny myself the sad satisfaction of claiming my small 
share in your great sorrow. For a great sorrow it must be which 
comes from the loss, even temporary, of the long-enjoyed compan- 
ionship of such a woman, so richly endowed with the qualities 
which win respect and love, and beautify and bless the home in 
which they dwell. The loveliness and sterling worth of her from 
whom you are now separated for a time, I have for many years 
known as one may who only meets their manifestations at long in- 
tervals ; and that measure of knowledge has been enough to impress 
me with a conviction of their priceless preciousness to those whose 
rich privilege it is to be in constant communion with them. I can 
form, therefore, some faint notion of how great a gap is made in the 
household her presence has blessed so long, now that she is with- 
drawn from you for the whole remnant of your abiding there. But 
I know also something of your clear, strong faith in the reunion of 
those who are parted here, and tiieir eternity of yet more blessed 
companionship in the "Better Land" to which she has only gone 
on a little before you. And I can well understand how abundant 
is the comfort you must draw from this source. You know too 
well to need any one's reminding you of it, how ample are the Love 
and Wisdom which preside over all events, and how impossible it is 
that they should permit any affliction to befall us which is not or- 
dained to work out a higher good for us than we could else enjoy. 
So, while I claim my share in the sorrow which this privation of 
the society of one so justly beloved must bring, I can also rejoice 
with you that, though sorrow may endure for a night, joy. cometh 
in the morning." 

Florence, Mass, c. c. b. 

" I know that words avail little in some of the great trials and 
bereavements of life, but I cannot forbear expressing my sympathy 



OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 55 

with thee at this time. The termination, with her earthly life, of 
the intimate communion and association which, for so many years, 
have been enjoyed by thyself and thy dear wife, must leave thee 
lonely and sad at times, and I would fain reach out a hand to thee. 
I know what it is to sit alone, like a stranger, at my own hearth ; 
but as time passes on, the memory of my dear friends grows more 
sweet and precious, and the hope of soon meeting them makes the 
great, inevitable change more tolerable to contemplate. 

" God has been good to thee in giving thee such a loving, and 
faithful, and excellent companion for so many years ; and now thy 
children and children's children gather close about thee. And 
with thy spiritual views, it may be that a realizing sense is affoi'ded 
thee that the dear one is still living, and still near thee." 

Amesbiirij, Mass. j. g. w. 

." Plow tenderly and warmly I sympathize with you in your 
great bereavement, I need not say. You had together over forty 
years of hap23y wedded life — hoiv happy I, who have so often 
been a welcome guest under your roof, and admitted to closest 
intimacy with you both, well know. What tender memories stir 
my heart as I review the history of the thirty-eight years that 
have passed away since I first met her, the proud mother of your 
first child ! From that day until the close of her life, I was per- 
mitted to think of her at all times as a true friend, and to admire 
her as a model wife and mother. The tie between her and my 
dear departed wife was very strong, as you know ; and if those who 
have been for years in spirit-^life are ever permitted to greet those 
the}'^ love on their arrival there, I am sure that the latter was one 
of the first to welcome your beloved to her new abode. It must 
have been a joyful meeting, and surely she who has gone had little 
to regret. Her life on earth was rounded and complete. She 
lived long enough to see her children full grown, and to look into 
the faces of her children's children. She lived long enough, too, 
to witness the triumph of the great cause to which her husband's 



56 OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 

life was consecrated, sharing with him the joy of victory as she had 
shared the trials of the conflict. What more could be desired for 
her ? Her departure from your side will set your own life in an 
entirely new aspect. You will miss her all the more that for 
years, as an invalid, she has required your tenderest care, and been 
the object of your constant solicitude and watchfulness. But you 
have all the consolation that springs from an unwavering faith in 
God, and in the beneficence of his ways. The attraction toward 
the other life must be greatly enhanced, now that it stands asso- 
ciated with her." 

Neiv York City. o. j. 

" It is many years since I saw dear Mrs. Garrison ; but I have 
always retained of her the most lively and pleasing remembrance. 
Indeed, as I write, my mind goes back to old times so vividly that 
the present seems almost a dream, and I feel as if living in the 
past. The years from 1835 to 1840 come before me, and I can see 
her animated, charming face and her amiable, gracious manners as 
if it were yesterday. Then the twenty years that I was concerned 
with the Anti-Slavery Fairs ! In all that time her assistance and 
sympathy were never wanting, and never in all that time can I 
recall one word of impatience, or distrust, or discouragement. She 
had indeed that ' meek and quiet spirit ' which is not only in the 
sight of God ' of great price,' but which is highly loved and appre- 
ciated by man ; and I do not know that I ever heard her mentioned 
but with regard and alFection." 

Paris, France. a. w. w. 

" What can I say to you at such a time, my dear friend ? 
Nothing, excepting that I grieve with you, and share your sorrows. 
You know that I know how to mourn with you under your great 
bereavement, for have I not undergone the like myself? I have 
always looked upon your marriage as one of the few perfect ones, 
in which both parties were entirely fitted the one to the other to 



OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 57 

meet and bear together the joys and the sorrows of life. You 
have the consolation of having made the life of your wife as 
happy as is consistent with mortal conditioning, through your true 
conjugal union, and her share and pride in your public career." 
Dedham, Mass. E. Q. 

" Though we may meet rarely, I can never forget you or that 
sweet, faithful wife whose countenance looked so bright and brave 
in early anti-slavery times. And my first impulse, when I saw by 
the newspaper that she was dead, was to write and assure you of 
my sympathy for your loss, and to tell you of the pleasant memo- 
ries I have of her ; notwithstanding there are so many more who 
knew and loved and respected her from a more intimate knowledge 

of her graces and virtues than I had May you obtain that 

consolation which must come from a higher source than human 
sympathy, and thereby gain an * exceeding peace.' " 

Boston, Mass. ii. i. b. 

" I this moment see the notice of the death of your dear wife. I 
know so well what she has been to you, and have so often seen how 
hard it is to part, even when one has the hope that it is not for 
long, that I must send you, for my wife and myself, and I half feel 
as if for father and mother (who, though beyond the veil, would yet 
sympathize in the pains of us that linger here), our kindest expres- 
sions of sympathy. Father and mother both sincerely loved Mrs. 
Garrison, as you well know, and perchance they may already be 
welcoming her in those calmer scenes to which we are all going 
forward, with the hope of such reunions for our choicest anticipa- 
tions. 

"Accept for yourself and your family our affectionate messages. 
That you will all know how to meet the sorrow, I know well. May 
God sanctify and bless it to you all, and especially to her children, 
and make her memory both a comfort and an inspiration ! " 

Newburijport, Mass. J. M. 



58 OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 

'"I want to tell you how sad I have felt since hearing that your 
dear wife is no more. I remember her as long as I remember any 
friend of our family, and she was very kind to me at an age when 
kindness means a great deal to a child, and is not easily forgotten. 
Especially is she connected in my mind with our pleasant home in 
Scituate, in the old exciting anti-slavery days, when we children 
partook of their enthusiasm, yet knew little of the perplexity and 
ditficulty in which the leaders of the great cause were involved." 

Sijracuse, N. Y. C. M. w. 

" I sympathize with you most truly in the loss of the dear com- 
panion of your life. I never became intimately acquainted with 
her, but I have a vivid recollection of her lovely, innocent face, and 
her friendly, pleasant ways. 

" No one knows better than I do what a void such a loss makes 
in one's life. Life will not be so empty for you, because you have 
beloved children and grandchildren, who have the habit of living 
with you, instead of being drawn away to new scenes and influ- 
ences, as families so often are. I am thankful that you have this 
blessed alleviation of your sori-ow. May the Heavenly Father 
comfort and sustain you ! " 

Wai/Iaiul, Mass. l. m. C. 

" I have no light to say a word to you in this sorrowful hour, 
except that of the truest sympathy. Let your heart be stayed upon 
the thought of the many, many thousands to you unknown, but 
who hold you in most grateful regard, and whose hearts turn to 
you with the same sympathy. 

" I send you but a word, — it is only taking your hand to assure 
you that, in our circle here, you are most tenderly remembered." 

Stalen Island, N. Y. o. w. c. 

"The beloved wife, and mother, is gone! AVhat a void is left! 
And yet what blessed and satisfying memories ! . . . . 



OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 59 

':'■ I enjoy recalling the little visit I had with dear Mrs. Garrison 
just before we left ; and indeed all the visits, through the many 
years, to you both, — her pleasure in seeing her personal friends 
was always so genuine I It was good for one, too, to see such con- 
tent, such delight in life and home affections, where, during the 
last years, she had lost so much that we think essential to true 
happiness. The picture is very sweet that we shall all carry with 
us through life, of her sunny, beaming smile and greeting, as she 
sat in the familiar seat by her favorite window. Beautiful, patient 
sufferer I — noble wife and mother, and true woman ! " 

Ia)s Angeles, Cal. C. M. s. 

" We would not by our silence have you think we were unmind- 
ful of or indifferent to you and your sorrowing family in the deep 
grief that now overshadows your once happy home. But we well 
know how powerless are words, even the most true and eloquent, 

to assuage the anguish of stricken hearts For many 

years it has been our privilege to know the dear one whom we 
were proud to call our friend. She has ever seemed to us the 
pattern wufe, the devoted mother, and the worthy associate of those 
who aimed at the highest and noblest ideals of life. As such she 
is enshrined in our memory. AVe know also of her patient endur- 
ance of bodily ills and privations, and the interest (despite all these) 
she ever took in all whom she could serve or benefit. We mourn 
for those she has left, who must so miss her bright presence, her 
words of cheer and consolation, and her kindly and wise advice. 
But for hei- we can but rejoice that her spirit is no longer fettered 
by earthly bonds, and that in her heavenly home she is freed from 
the sufferings and limitations that so often wearied and afflicted her 
on earth." 

Roxbury, Mass. c. c t. 

'' I have just learned that your dear wife has passed away from 
earth. The news is startling, and tills my heart with sadness: not 
for her who has entered upon a higher and more glorious life, but 



60 OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 

for you, so sorely bereaved of the partner of your youth and your 
age, who for so many years has shared, with tender sympathy, all 
your sorrows and cares and joys, and filled your home with the 

blessed light of her love All the consolation possible 

in such bereavement is yours ; and words are very empty and 
weak, I know. And yet I know that sympathy is not valueless ; 
and therefore, and because I cannot help it, I offer it to you." 
Philadelphia, Pa. M. G. 

" I need not try to say how earnestly I sympathize with you in 
the sorrow that has passed over your household, so united in affec- 
tion and gratitude to one of the truest of wives and mothers. 

. " The pain of outward separation must be softened by the thought 
that her every wish has been fulfilled, so far as it was possible to 
devise and meet it, and that she knew your love, and carried the 
strength and joy of knowing it as a perpetual consciousness through 
all these years, and on into the new birth by which she has been 
lifted from your sight. She has been so near to you in all the great 
consecrations and emergencies of your work, and so associated with 
all the principles and aims of her children, that she must remain, 
more really than ever in many ways, the centre of your spiritual 
home, as so long of your visible one. 

" How long she has been with you, in strength and weakness the 
same ; and how inestimable the treasure laid up in your hearts of 
the sympathies that made her dear to such a circle of friends, and 
the virtues that proved adequate to meet all the cares and tests and 
opportunities which the life-long anti-slavery struggle made her 
daily part ! " 

Salem, Muss. s. j. 

" None knew her but to love her. Her sweet face and sweeter 
spirit will never be forgotten ; her smile is ever impressed on our 
memory. The sad reflection comes, that had she been less unselfish 
and saved herself from such great effort in early times, she would 



OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 61 

have escaped many years of sufFeriug. Her large heart made her 
hospitality of too wide a range for her strength, and thus she was 
sacrificed. Her memory will he ever green in the hearts of her 
friends." 

Orange, N. J. ■ c. & A. R. b. 

" How glad I am I came out to see you for those few hurried 
moments before I left home ! I should never have forgiven myself 
if I had missed one last kiss from my dear friend. 

" When I saw the few words in the Transcript, speaking of her 
lovely character, I thought how little it would have pleased her to 
have had her own retired womanly ways exalted at the expense of 
those obliged to go out into ruder life for the sake of those who 
need help, and do not know that they need it ! 

" I hope that, some day, fitting words may be written to show 
how great was her service in the day of your trial. If she had 
kept a hotel, she could not more sedulously have devoted herself to 
the bodily needs of a great many inconsiderate people. Whether 
she was drawn to them or not made no difference. If they served 
the truth, she served them that she might the more truly serve you 
and her God. 

" God help you and yours to bear this heavy blow ! No one 
knows better than I how helpful she has always been in her help- 
lessness, and how impossible, in spite of her long sickness, it was to 
be prepared for her departure." 

Buffalo, N. Y. c. H. D. 

" Your very kind note, accompanied by a most satisfactory photo- 
graph of your dear wife, came in due season. Her sweet, loving 
spirit shines in the picture as it always did in her own face. The 
picture will ever be precious to me and mine. My husband was 
thankful that he could be with you on the occasion of the last ser- 
vices to the departed one. In your bereavement you have our 
deepest sympathy." 

Worcester, Mass. A. K. f. 



62 OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 

" I could not utter a word, the day I left you, of my heartfelt 
sympathy. It was the first time I was to say ' Good-by,' without 
the fond caress of your dear wife ; and the tears blind me now as I 
think of it, and of the never failing tenderness and affection which 
I miss so keenly now. I could not help loving her from the first, 
her helplessness was so api^ealing, and her loving heart and gener- 
ous nature were so responsive Though we cannot 

wish her back to so much suffering, and should be tliankful for her 
peaceful translation at the last, we cannot help the tears : they are 
for ourselves." 

Providence, R. I. j. r. 

" Your grief must be great ; so, let me hope, is your consolation. 

Your loss is irreparable ; her gain is unspeakable So, 

too, the surviving children lose, for a time, a mother. And such a 
mother ! But the two dear children long gone before have found 
her, and found her forever. Let me say of you all, — it is all I 
can say after those hallowed words of Mr. Phillips at the burial, — 

' When, soon or late, you reach that coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driven, 
May you rejoice, no wanderer lost — 
A family in heaven ! ' " 
Concord, N. H. p. p. 

" First a Chicago Tribune, then the Card in affectionate remem- 
brance, and now the Woman's Journal, with a report of the death, 
and the last loving tribute of Wendell Phillips and other friends to 
the sweet and noble nature of your heart's beloved, met my eye 
here in the far West, hard at work to help on the good cause she 

loved so well How beautifully serene she was that last 

November evening when I last saw her ! And how, with her 
bright face and cheerful voice, did she ever welcome me to that 
home for every friend of the slave in Dix Place, I can remember as 
if but yesterday. She was ever ready to second every plan for 
work, and to start out with me to help execute it. She was truly 



OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 63 

a blessed and blessing spirit here ; and how much more so may she 
be in the beyond ! " 

West Libertfi, Iowa. S. b. a. 



" I cannot resist the strong impulse to mingle my tears with yours, 
and to send to you and your family my heartfelt sympathy and 
condolence. You know that dear, good Mrs. Garrison was a kiud 
friend to me when I first came among you, ' a stranger in a strange 
land;' and in her warm, affectionate presence I had the feeling of 
home and friendship. How well I recall her bright face, beaming 
smile, and woi'ds of sympathy ! And now, if aught I could do to 
soothe your grief, how gladly would I do it for your and her dear 
sake ! I, however, know that your all-perfect faith realizes that the 
separation is only seeming, not real, and that as an angel she is 
ever with you, blessing and consoling you. So I can only say, 
with a large circle of her loving friends, I also feel the sad bereave- 
ment caused by her departure." 

New York City. M. G. b. 

" Our remembrance of Mrs. Garrison will always be as of a 
most kind and generous friend ; of a philanthropic, true and noble 
woman. In such a wife and mother, you and your children have 
been richly blessed, much beyond the average of human experience. 
In my boyhood introduction to the anti-slavery movement, her 
kindly welcome was one of the sources of sympathetic encourage- 
ment, the remembrance of which I shall always gratefully cherish." 
New York City. a. m. p. 

" The public journals of this morning inform me of the death of 
your honored wife. This event has so vividly recalled to my mind 
her hospitality to me in former years, that I would feel it my sad 
privilege and sacred duty to attend her funeral, except that my 
public engagements will make this impossible. Permit me, there- 
fore, in the only way that remains to me, to send you this meagre 



64 OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 

token of my heartfelt sympathy for you ia this hour of your sorrow- 
Permit me also something more. The living belong to a few, but 
the dead belong to us all. Your kind-hearted wife was one of my 
early ideals and typical images of matronly goodness. She made 
this impression upon me to so representative and memorable a de- 
gree, that ever since hearing, this morning, of her death, I have 
been all day signally honoring her memory in my heart of hearts. 
Hence, though you and 1 have not met for years, and are now 
almost strangers to each other, I cannot refrain from sending you 
this line of condolence, with my best wishes for your broken and 
honored house." 

Brooldyn, N. Y. t. t. 

" I feel deep grief on receiving the intelligence of the departure 
of your beloved wife to her heavenly home. I can only pray that 
you may all be comforted by the memory of her pure, beautiful and 
unselfish life. I shall always remember her grent kindness to me 
— a kindness shown in a hundred little ways. You have the joy of 
knowing how you have been honored by such a wife — in her 
sweetness and purity — in her wifely and motherly qualities — 
in her good sense — in her unselfish generosity — and iu the in- 
tegrity of her principles and convictions. Surely she has ascended 
to the Higher Life, and will doubtless continue to be very near you 
to hallow and to bless you." 

London, England. H. v. 

" Your touching announcement has filled my heart with tender 
sympathy. I can appreciate in no ordinary degree what a loss has 
fallen upon your happy home ; and I feel a sort of bereavement in 
the departure of your sainted wife to her spirit home. I loved her 
very dearly, and my seasons of communion with her were among 
the most treasured of the many rich experiences of my visit to 
Boston. I felt that our minds and hearts met in a peculiar man- 
ner ; and her words, as well as her beautiful example, strengthened 



OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 65 

my feith whilst kindling my reverence and love. Her sweet talks 
with me keep recurring to my memory, and I have a vivid picture 
of her lulling her little granddaughter to sleep by the magnetism 
of her own tranquillity. And, oh ! so many other scenes crowd up 
as I write ! 

"What she 'has been to you all — how much every good cause 
owes to her, and how she inspired and upheld the anti-slavery 
band in its darkest hours, and never relaxed in her unwearying toil 
until the victory was gained — of all this it is not my province to 
speak ; yet the privilege of having been an inmate in your home, 
and of having enjoyed free intercourse with her and the loving fam- 
ily, enables me to estimate her worth in this capacity far more than 
an outsider could do. You are indeed wealthy in possessing such 
holy memories, and in having had her with you so long. Her years 
of invalidism only enhanced her precious influence, and made her 
more needed in a sense to you all ; yet I know you are able to re- 
joice that she is emancipated from the burden of bodily ailments 
which fettered her bright, active soul in these latter days." 

Bristol, Ew/land. M. A. E. 

" We cannot wish to recall the departed, for the change to her 

must be a most blessed one What pleasant memories I have 

of her ! It seemed wonderful to me how, in her frail state of 
health, she could be so hospitable, and always so sweet and gentle." 

MonipeUier, France. A. m''l. 

" The news of the sad bereavement you have suffered reached 
us here a short time ago, and now I have had a copy of The 
Woman's Journal, giving a report of the speeches of our dear 
friends when attending the funeral. I never had the privilege of 
personally seeing your dear wife, but I cannot help feeling for her, 
as for many of the brave band of abolitionists, a personal friend- 
ship and love. I know what all of you had to endure, and how 
all endured together. I know how, without that loyal sharing 
of the toils and dangers of the great work, the blessing which has 
9 



6Q OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES. 

been obtained could never have been won, and my love and ad- 
miration extend therefore to all of you. And now, as the number 
grows less of those still left here below, it is not possible to avoid 
feeling that the pain of separation must be bitter even to those who 
know that the season for reunion cannot be distant. You have 
lived and loved so long and so fully in and through one another, 
that I can well understand how keen the grief must be ; and yet you 
have had so many proofs of Divine Love, that I trust your faith 
will help you to bear your burden with patient resignation till the 
time of the full consolation shall arrive. 

" It sometimes seems to me as if the separation of friends by dis- 
tance is very much akin to that of death. I fear I shall never be 
privileged to cross the Atlantic to see you again, or to make the 
acquaintance in the body of some whose names have been familiar 
to me and mine for years, and who have done me more moral good 
than many whom I have known here at home; but when we are 
called home unto the spiritual world, I shall, I trust, meet them and 
you, and be able to say how gratefully I have thought of them and 
loved them. We shall not be strangers there ; and when death 
thins your ranks, and those whom I have only known by name are 
taken to their heavenly home, they seem rather nearer than farther 
from me ; and though, from my own experience of what bereave- 
ment means, I feel for and with you, yet, perhaps on account of 
our present separation, it seems to me that I understand more of 
the welcome which has greeted our beloved in the world above : — 

' The blest above 
Have hailed a spirit's heavenly birth, 
Sung a new song of joj' and love ; 
Then why should anguish reign on earth ? ' 

" Many friends who have enjoyed the happiness of being guests 
at your house have often spoken to me of her whom now so many 
mourn ; but they all have so spoken of her, that it is but like think- 
ing of her going home to read of her now." 

Manchester, England. s. A. s. 



LofC. 



NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 



]Mrs. William Lloyd Garrison. — We deeply regret to have 
to announce the death of this estimable lady, the wife of William 
Lloyd Garrison. The Sjyringjield Republican says : " By the death 
of Mrs. Garrison, Boston loses one of its best and kindest women. 
When, in 1830, the late Samuel J. May (then settled in Brooklyn, 
Connecticut), with his brother-in-law, Mr. Bronson Alcott, and his 
cousin, Mr. Samuel E. Sewall, heard Mr. Garrison lecture against 
slavery in Boston, the Connecticut minister became a convert to 
the opinions of the young emancipator, and invited him to speak in 
his church at Brooklyn, which Mr. Garrison did more than once. 
There, no doubt, he became acquainted with Miss Helen Benson, 
and their marriage naturally followed. Her family, like Mr. Gar- 
rison, were anti-slavery people, and her father was president of the 
Windham County Peace Society, of which Mr. May was secretary. 
Mrs. Garrison joined her fortunes gladly to those of her husband, 
and nobly supported him in all his work as a reformer. She was 
a person of beautiful asjject, manners, and spirit, as gentle and at- 
tractive as Mr. Garrison was bold and denunciatory, and I suppose 
she scarcely knew, in all her life, what it was to have an enemy. 
She had been suffering for several years from partial paralysis, and 
had been gradually declining for six months past. She leaves 
children and grandchildren, who were with her in the last days of 
her illness." We very much regret to learn that Mr. Garrison was 
confined to his room by illness, and not able to attend the funeral. 
Wendell Phillips, Samuel May, Dr. Putnam, and Mrs. Lucy Stone 
all took part in the deeply affecting proceedings. — Manchester 
i^Eng.) Alliance News. 



68 NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 

It will be sad news to many, as they scan the record of deaths in 
our columns, to learn of the decease of the wife of William Lloyd 
Garrison. Through years of trial and of struggle she was his con- 
stant companion, friend and helpmeet, and in later life, when public 
opinion came up to his standard, and saw him as she had seen him, 
an honest, sincere and faithful man seeking to do right for its own 
sake and to help his fellow-man, she was the same. But perhaps 
the most fitting element in the tribute which was her due, and 
which will draw the fond recognition of a class of wives and 
mothers outside of those who were in the fullest sympathy and 
accord with the agitated life of Mr. Garrison, will be that the 
world has not heard of her dui'ing her whole'career. It was in the 
circle of her family and friends alone that her presence in all its 
sweet influence of gentleness and fidelity was an acknowledged 
force. — Boston Evening Transcript. 

The great multitude of friends and admirers of AYilliant Lloyd 
Garrison will feel the deepest and tenderest sympathy with him in 
the death of his wife, which took place on the 25th ult., at the 
family residence in Boston Highlands. Mrs. Garrison was the 
youngest daughter of the late George Benson, formerly a well- 
known merchant-philanthropist of Providence, and afterwards a 
resident of Brooklyn, Ct., where he died many years since highly 
honored. She shared with her husband all the dangers and priva- 
tions of the great conflict to which he had devoted himself. Mod- 
est and self-forgetful to a rare degree, and shrinking alvvays from 
public notice, she was a model wife and mother. Five children 
survive to cherish the memory of her virtues. — Christian Union, 
New York. 

The death, in the Roxbury district, Tuesday, of Helen Eliza 
Benson, wife of William Lloyd Garrison, deprives the community 
and her friends of a most estimable lady who shared with her hus- 
band all the perils and honors of his eventful career. Her children 
long since rose up to call her blessed. — Boston Commonwealth. 



NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 69 

The friends of Woman Suffrage were saddened, at their Conven- 
tion last Tuesday, by the unexpected news of the death of Mrs. 
Garrison, wife of William Lloyd Garrison, for forty years the wor- 
thy partner of his anti-slavery labors and sacrifices. Next week 
we hope to be able to give our readers, who comprise no inconsider- 
able proportion of the survivors of the devoted band of New Eng- 
land abolitionists, a brief sketch of her unostentatious and emi- 
nently useful life. Thousands of hearts share, to-day, in the sorrow 
of the bereaved husband and children and grandchildren who rise 
up and call her blessed, and gladly would these many friends ex- 
press their regard for the deceased and their sympathy with the sur- 
vivors. At the funeral were gathered the diminishing numbers of 
the old abolitionists — Wendell Phillips, Samuel May, Theodore 
D. Weld, Mrs. Chapman, Robert F. Wallcut, Lucy Stone, Miss 
Weston, the Southwicks, the Nowells, the Sewalls, the Spooners, 
and the children of the anti-slavery reformers, all drawn by ten- 
der sympathy with the bereaved family. — The Woman's Journal, 
Boston. 

Mrs. Garrison I have long known and loved. Her husband's 
work owes much of its persistent force to her steadfast sweetness 
and sympathy. 

Her life was one of those that made our other lives possible. 
While we petitioned legislatures, held conventions, or inaugurated 
associations, she worked still harder at home, to make home lovely 
for us as well as her own household — to give us refuge, rest, re- 
freshment. For years, no one of her children knew what it was to 
have a room of his own ; and I wonder whether even one of her 
thick-coming guests will ever trace the links between her hospital- 
ity and her paralysis. 

She was not self-distrustful, but with rare wisdom refrained from 
attempting what she could not do, while she threw herself with her 
whole force into the things she could do. Everybody about her, 
beloved and honored in the anti-slavery ranks, might fall into vis- 
ionary folly, or embrace a phantom ; it was not in her to do any 



70 NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 

such thing. With quiet common sense, she held to what she had 
always known and believed, and never ruffled the air with her opin- 
ions unless need was. I shall not miss her from the window whence 
she " overlooked the world ; " 1 shall always see her there, serene 
and beautiful, patiently waiting for what has now come. God help 
those who must miss her through their daily need ! — c. ii. d. in 
The Neiv Age, Boston. 

At the annual meeting of the Massachusetts Woman Suffrage 
Association, held in Boston, January 25, 1876, the following reso- 
lution was adopted: — 

" Resolved, That the Massachusetts Woman Suffrage Associa- 
tion deeply symjiathize with their honored friend William Lloyd 
Garrison, in the death of his beloved wife, which occurred this 
morning, and that they tender to him their warmest sympathy in 
his great bereavement." 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

When the hours of Day are numbered, 

And the voices of the Night 
Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 

To a holy, calm delight ; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 

Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door ; 
The beloved, the true-hearted. 

Come to visit me once more. 

And with them the Being Beauteous, 

Who unto my youth was given, 
More than all things else to love me. 

And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 

Comes that messenger divine, 
Takes the vacant chair beside me. 

Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me 

With those deep and tender eyes. 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended. 

Is the spirit's voiceless prayer. 
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended. 

Breathing from her lips of air. 
[Selected.'] Longfkli.ow. 



MEMORIES. 

Give our tears to the dead ! For Humanity's claim 
From its silence and darkness is ever the same ; 
The hope of that world whose existence is bliss 
May not stifle the tears of the mourners of this. 

O, who can forget the mild light of her smile, 
Over lips moved with music and feeling the while — 
The e^^e's deep enchantment, dark, dream-like, and clear 
In the glow of its gladness, the shade of its tear! 

And the charm of her features, while over the whole 
Played the hues of the heart and the sunshine of soul ; 
And the tones of her voice, like the music which seems 
Murmured low in our ears by the Angel of dreams ! 

But holier and dearer our memories hold 

Those treasures of feeling, more precious than gold, — 

The love and the kindness and pity which gave 

Fresh flowers for the bridal, green wreaths for the grave ! 

The heart ever open to Charity's claim, 
Unmoved from its purpose by censure and blame, 
While vainly alike on her eye and her ear 
Fell the scorn of the heartless, the jesting and yer. 

How true to our hearts was that beautiful sleeper ! 
With smiles for the joyful, with tears for the weeper ! — 
Yet, ever more prompt, whether mournful or gay, 
With warnings in love to the passing astray. 

As a cloud of the sunset, slow melting in heaven, 
As a star that is lost when the daylight is given, 
As a glad dream of slumber which wakens in bliss. 
She hath passed to the world of the holy from this. 

ISelected.'] Whittier. 







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